Learn to be Lonely
by gryffingirl77
Summary: Chapter 14 FINALLY! up! A companion piece to The Angel of Music. The story of Erik and Christine’s daughter, Elizabeth Christine.
1. Beth

**A/N:** Hello and welcome to my latest Phantom of the Opera story. This is a companion piece to _The Angel of Music._ To those of you who may be reading this that read and reviewed that story, thank you for your support and kind words. So many of you asked for a sequel and this came to me the other day and I decided to write it and see where it went. I hope you enjoy and, as always, all reviews are much appreciated! The title is a nod to the _Phantom_ movie. I bought the CD yesterday and absolutely LOVE it. I am so excited for the movie, no matter what the nay-sayers say. I love Michael Crawford dearly but he couldn't be in the movie and I think Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum's voices are spectacular!!

**Summary:** This story follows the life of Erik and Christine's daughter Elizabeth Christine. It starts from when she is thirteen and then goes to when she is sixteen and first starts to sing at the Paris Opera House. The premise is this….what happens when Erik and Christine's daughter begins performing at the Paris Opera House and hears of the Opera Ghost?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or any of the characters. Unfortunately!

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Growing up I never thought there was anything 'different' about my father. He was just Papa. Loving and caring, he called me his little princess. He loved me and my brother, Stephan, dearly, but he was completely devoted to our mother. He quite literally worshiped her. When I was older I would wish that I would ever find a man to love me as much as Papa loved Mama.

It was not until I was older and went to school that I first started to realize that Papa was different from everyone else. I had thought little of the white satin mask that he wore when other people were around. It was just there, I did not think much of it. The only people that ever came around anyway were Monsieur and Madame Emond. Charles was Papa's business partner.

I knew Papa was disfigured but I never thought much about it until I went to school. Until I realized that Papa never met with my teachers, that it was always Mama who went to school, Mama who went to my performances. Never Papa.

I grew to think he did not love me, I never thought for a moment that he was protecting me. I just knew that I was hurt that he never went to see me sing and over time I grew resentful of my father. I thought that if he loved me he would come to my performances, even though I knew he preferred to stay away from people.

How could he praise my singing and yet never come to see me perform?

I was thirteen years old when things exploded the first time….

Xxx

"Beth, come, we must leave or you will be late for your performance!"

"No, I am not going! I am never singing again!" I cried, throwing myself onto my bed, sobbing.

"Beth, please. You have been so excited for this recital. Your father has spent so much time helping you rehearse…" Mama said, her voice pleading.

"No! I am not going!" I said, my voice wobbly with tears.

I heard the quiet snick as the door opened, but I did not look up. There was a quiet rustle as my mother walked across the room and then sat gingerly on the bed next to me. A warm, gentle hand rubbed my back.

"Beth, darling, what is wrong?" Mama asked.

I shook my head and refused to look up.

"Bethie, please, tell me what is wrong," Mama said, using the nickname that my father always called me.

I only sobbed louder.

Mama sighed. "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong."

There was a quiet desperation in her voice that even in my thirteen year old tantrum I could hear.

I looked up. My face was streaked with tears and my unruly curly hair was a mess. "Papa does not love me," I whispered, my face turning red with shame.

My mothers' eyebrows flew up and her mouth opened slightly as she stared at me. "Bethie, darling! Whatever would make you think such a thing? Your father adores you!"

I shook my head vehemently. "No he does not!"

My mother looked perplexed. Her eyes were green, deep green like the emerald ring that she wore. Her dark hair was curly, like mine, but she always looked so beautiful and elegant, unlike me. My hair was always a mess and I had none of the self confidence and elegance that my mother, Christine Daae de Nuit, had.

"What makes you think such a thing, sweetheart?"

"He-he never goes to my performances," I whispered. "He must think my singing is dreadful and he is embarrassed of me."

Mama's jaw dropped. "Oh, Bethie! No, darling, that is not it at all!" she said, pulling me into a firm hug. "Your Papa is proud of you, very proud. He loves you so much!"

"Then why won't he see me sing? Why won't he go to my performances?" I asked, my voice shrill.

Mama took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes were warm as she reached down and gently brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and tucked it behind my ear. She smiled slightly as she said, "I always knew that one day this would come up."

"What do you mean?"

Mama looked away from me and stared out the window above my bed for a moment. Then she looked back down at me.

"Beth, the reason your father does not go to your performances has nothing to do with how he feels about you. Well, it does, but not in the way that you think."

"I do not understand," I said.

"You know that your father does not look like other people…"

I nodded. "Yes, I know."

"The reason your father does not go out in public is because of how he looks. Because of…his face."

"But it is not that bad! He cannot help it."

"I know, darling, but his life has been…hard."

"Because of his face?"

"Yes, Bethie. Because of his face."

I thought about that. "But why, Mama?" I asked. "Papa is wonderful, why would people be mean to him just because of how he looks?"

"People can be cruel, Beth, and your father prefers to stay away from people whenever he can. He is ashamed of how he looks and he does not want to cause us, any of us, shame."

"But he doesn't!" I protested, sitting up. My anger at my father was disappearing, leaving in its wake anger at a world that had hurt him. "I am not ashamed of him!"

"I know, Beth, but your father…he is stubborn."

We sat in silence for several moments while Mama stroked my hair. Then she wiped the tears off of my cheeks. "We can still make it to your recital. Shall we go?"

I nodded firmly. "Yes, Mama. I want to go. I will sing for Papa, even if he will not go. I understand and I do not want him to be hurt," I said firmly.

"That's my girl," Mama said, smiling at me. "Now, shall we get you into your dress and fix your hair?"

"Yes, Mama," I said and gave her a wobbly smile as we stood and went to my bureau to find the dress for my recital.

((well? What did you think? Please review and let me know! Thanks!!))


	2. Beth

**A/N:** Big hugs and thank you's go out to: BelleDayNight, artificial night and ChoChangLookAlike for your kind reviews! Thank you thank you thank you!!

I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I had to end it there to start the next part. Don't worry, the chapters will get longer and there will be much more action to come!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Phantom of the Opera_ or its characters, much as I wish I did!

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The next morning I woke up slowly. It was Saturday and the house was quiet. Mama was probably at the market with Stephan.

My dog, a little white poodle, was curled up on the bed next to me. When I opened my eyes she reached over and licked my cheek and I smiled.

Sasha had been a birthday present. Papa had Charles buy her and bring her to me early in the morning on my tenth birthday. I had fallen in love with her immediately. She was such a sweet little ball of fluff.

But even though she was my birthday present, Sasha preferred Papa over everyone else. She followed him around and lay at his feet when he sang.

I remembered, clearly, when I had chosen her name. We were trying to decide what to call the puppy when I suddenly said, "We should name her Sasha!" I said and Papa's face went white. Mama asked him what was wrong but he just shook his head and said that Sasha was the name of a dog he'd had as a child. When I asked what had happened to her, Papa got that faraway look in his eyes and said simply that she had died of old age. Even at ten I had not believed him.

I got up and dressed and went downstairs, Sasha close behind me. I could hear the faint strains of music coming from the music room.

I opened the door slowly and found my father sitting at the organ. He was playing a slow, haunting song, one I had heard countless times before but never tired of hearing. I leaned against the doorframe and listened as he sang. The song was _Music of the Night_, a song he wrote for my mother years ago when he was her voice tutor. His voice was wonderful, Mama said Papa had the voice of an angel.

I listened to the words, and for the first time realized the meaning behind them. I understood why he preferred to stay away from people. I was suddenly fascinated with my father, a man I knew so little about, only that he and Mama had met when she was singing at the Paris Opera House. Then Papa became her tutor and taught her how to sing. Then they had decided to get married and she had stopped singing and they had moved to the country. I knew nothing else about him, except that his parents were dead and that he was an architect as well as a musician and singer. He spoke many languages and loved to read. He was often quiet and withdrawn and when he was composing music it was as if he were someplace far away. Papa was mysterious, no doubt of that.

Suddenly I had a million questions, but I knew I could not ask them, not then.

Papa turned then and saw me standing in the doorway. He stopped singing. "Bethie, I did not hear you come in," he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, which were the same shade of blue as my own.

Sasha ran over to him and he gently stroked her head. I sat next to him on the bench.

"Your mother tells me that you sang beautifully last night," he said. He picked up a single red rose that was sitting on the organ and handed it to me, as he had done after each and every one of my performances.

I blushed and held the rose up to smell its sweet fragrance. "She has to say that," I said softly. "She is my mother."

Papa studied me intently. "Bethie, you have a beautiful voice. You are so very talented. With your voice you will be famous someday."

I looked up at him. "You really think so?" I said hopefully.

"Yes I do. You will be a _Prima Donna_. Perhaps someday you will perform on the stage at the Paris Opera House where your mother used to sing," he said. He was looking at me, but there was a distant look in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, Bethie, really," he said.

I smiled up at him. "Mama says you are the world's best teacher," I said and Papa chuckled softly.

Just then I heard the door open and Mama called to me to help with the groceries from the market. I leaned over and kissed Papa on the cheek and smiled as I hurried to the kitchen.

I vowed then and there that one day I would make it to the stage at the Paris Opera House. I imagined standing there in front of a grand audience, all cheering for me, and Papa on the front row, watching me.

I would sing in the Opera House. I would make my father proud.

((Please review and let me know what you think! Your reviews are much appreciated!!))


	3. Erik

**A/N:** I have read many good stories here on FFN that have gotten flamed because in them Erik is "out of character", because he _is supposed to be a monster, a lunatic_, etc etc. But I guess my feelings are that people can change if they want to bad enough. I believe in redemption and salvation, though not necessarily on a religious level. On a personal level. And if Erik had ended up with Christine, who knows what that would have done for him. Anyways, that is where I am going with this story, that Erik has redeemed himself, but can he ever really be free of the past?

Oh, and I've been listening to the POTO Movie Soundtrack and I have one thing to say: What is with Raoul's giggle in the _Little Lotte/The Mirror_ song??? And what is with Christine wanting to go with a guy that _giggles_ like that??? Ok, I'm done….

**Thank Yous**: to ChoChangLookAlike, Summer Song, Ashley the Strange, artificial night, Elisabetta, BelleDayNight, Blue Beauty, MenacerPhan, lauren and annecordeila for your reviews and encouragement. Love and hugs to you all!!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or the characters.

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I watched from the shadows as the carriage pulled up in front of the house. A moment later Christine, Beth and Stephan stepped from the carriage and went inside.

As I always did, I walked to the carriage and paid the driver for a pristine, long stemmed red rose. I always paid him well and he had never, in years of service, been anything but polite to me, despite the white silk mask that covered half of my face.

The carriage drove off and I stayed outside, walking through the snow covered gardens, waiting for Christine to put the children to bed. Guilt ate at me for not going in, not speaking to my daughter, but shame kept me outside, watching for the moment that her window went dark.

Before they had left for Beth's recital Christine had come to me in the music room and told me that Bethie thought that I did not love her, that I was ashamed of her singing and that is why I did not go to her recitals.

It had pained me, knowing my daughter thought that. But how could she think anything else? She was thirteen years old and I had never attended any of her performances, though I had been teaching her how to sing since she was just a small child.

I sighed as I looked up at the dark, cloud-laden sky. The winter night air was bitterly cold, but I was oblivious to it. My breath froze before me as I walked back around to the front of the house. I looked up at the windows, saw shadows moving behind the shades in Beth's room.

I had the life I had always dreamed of, had always wished for. I was married, to Christine no less, I had two beautiful children…and yet my face, my cursed face, continued to bring me misery.

When Christine had first told me that she was expecting I had been terrified. I was thrilled at the thought of a child but the worry that I would pass my deformity on to my child had eaten at me. Christine had tried to calm my worries, telling me that no matter what the child looked like we would love and cherish it. Far different from my own mother. It wasn't until the moment Bethie was born and I had first looked at her lovely, perfect face that I had relaxed.

And even with my good life, my wonderful family, I was still consumed with so much anger. Anger at a world that kept me imprisoned in my own home, anger that no matter how normal my life seemed, the reality was that my life would never be 'normal'. I would never be able to go to the market with my family or attend my child's recitals. For to do that would only bring them pain. They would be shunned, mocked, because of me. And that was something I could never do.

And yet, despite all of that, despite wanting only to protect them, I sill brought them pain. My child thought I was ashamed of her, when nothing was further from the truth.

I felt a familiar rush of anger and willingly embraced it. At times like this I wished I had never left my underground lair, never married Christine and subjected her to this life.

The lights went out in the upstairs bedrooms and I knew Christine would come looking for me, so I went inside. I removed my hat and cloak and went downstairs into the basement room that I had made into a private music room. It held an organ, the first one we had purchased when we bought the house. The room was far enough below the children's rooms that I could play to my hearts content and they could not hear me. It was cold in the room, but I ignored it as I shut the doors and sat on the bench.

I began playing, pouring my emotions into the music as I had done so many times while I was living beneath the Opera House. I poured my anger and frustration into my music. I was so deeply drawn into the song that I did not notice Christine enter. Then suddenly she was beside me, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

I looked up at her. "Leave me, Christine. I am not in the mood for company," I snapped, glaring up at her.

She gave a little half smile as she sat next to me. "It is good I am your wife, and not just company then, is it not?"

I sighed and turned away from her. Christine continually amazed me. Years ago had I snapped at her like that it would have reduced her to tears. But she had learned over time that my anger was rarely directed at her. I continued to play, but some of the anger was draining out me, leaving in its wake an unbearable sadness.

"Bethie sang beautifully tonight, Erik," Christine said softly. "Her music teacher said she is the most talented thirteen year old she has ever seen. She said that Beth is too talented to stay singing with just a school choir for much longer."

"That is wonderful," I said dully.

"Erik," Christine said.

I turned from her and looked at the wall.

"Erik, please," she said softly, taking my hand in hers. "Talk to me."

I whirled around to look at her. "What do you want me to say, Christine? Our daughter thinks I do not love her, she thinks that I am ashamed of her. My children know nothing about me, about who I am. I feel like I have done nothing but deceive them."

Christine looked at me, her jewel green eyes piercing into my very soul. How those eyes had changed over the years. When we first met her eyes held a childlike innocence. Now her eyes shone with the wisdom and gentleness of a wife and mother. "Erik, who you are is a wonderful husband and a wonderful father. That is all they need to know. Your life is what it is now, not what it was."

I sighed. "It does not matter, Christine. What I am keeps you and our children from having a normal life."

Christine narrowed her eyes. "I prefer this life with you than to any other life without you, Erik."

"And what of our children, Christine?" I asked sharply. "What of their life?"

Christine sighed and looked down at her hand in mine. When she looked back up her eyes were bright with tears. "I spoke to Beth, Erik. I explained to her why you cannot attend her recitals."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that you do not go to her performances because you are trying to protect her. She asked why and I told her, because of your face."

Anger welled up inside of me. Not at Christine, of course. At myself.

"And do you know what she said, Erik?" Christine asked. "She said that you are wonderful. She said she is not ashamed of you. But she said that she understands and that she does not want you hurt, so she would sing for you, even if you could not be there. She told me tonight that she just wants to make you proud."

I looked helplessly at Christine and felt a rush of love for my daughter and her childlike innocence and her unconditional love.

"I told her I had never been more proud of her," Christine said softly and I pulled her into my arms.

My anger and frustration melted away as I sat with Christine in my arms. I had thought, long ago, that I was beyond redemption, that there was nothing that could ever salvage my life.

But I was wrong. Christine's love had saved me, in more ways than one.

Xxx

The next morning Christine took Stephan to the market. She said she would be gone awhile so I went to the upstairs music room to work on a piece that I had been working on for some time.

I could not seem to get anything right, so I abandoned the song and began playing a song I had written long ago, for Christine. Engrossed as I was in the song I did not hear Bethie enter the room. Finally I turned and saw her standing in the doorway. I stopped playing and smiled at my daughter.

"Bethie, I did not hear you come in," I said.

Beth's dog, Sasha, ran to me and I stroked her head as Beth came to sit next to me on the bench.

"Your mother tells me that you sang beautifully last night," I said as I handed her the red rose. She took it and blushed slightly, as she always did when she was complimented. "She has to say that, she is my mother," she said, looking down.

I looked at Beth, amazed. In so many ways she was just like Christine. She was sweet and happy but at the same time, there was an intensity in her that Christine did not have. Beth could be moody, temperamental, like myself. She lost herself in music the same way I had at her age. "Bethie," I said. "You have a beautiful voice. You are so very talented. With your voice you will be famous someday." I wanted to talk to her, to explain to her myself why I stayed hidden from the world, but the words would not come.

"You really think so?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"Yes I do. You will be a _Prima Donna_. Perhaps someday you will perform on the stage at the Paris Opera House where your mother used to sing," I said. I looked down at her. She looked so much like Christine, and her voice was magnificent. I had no doubt that she would become a _Prima Donna,_ that she would sing on the best stages, in the best performances.

"Really?"

"Yes, Bethie, really," I said.

"Mama says you are the world's best teacher," she said with a smile. I laughed softly, lost in memories.

There was a shout from the kitchen as Christine and Stephan returned from the market. Beth smiled at me once again and leaned over to kiss my cheek before she hurried to the kitchen to help.

One day I would talk to her, tell her why I preferred to stay away from people. One day. But not yet…

((Well, what did you think?? Do you like having Erik's POV in it? I'm toying around with different ways to write this. Feedback and comments are much appreciated!!))

((please please review!! Thanks!!!))


	4. Christine

**A/N:** Wow! Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm glad to see so many familiar faces and some new ones too! Thanks to: Elisabetta, BelleDayNight, BlueBeauty, ChoChangLookAlike, erik's angel527, Menacer Phan, Dark Firebird, Ultimate Vader Fan, annecordelia & Mystery Guest for the reviews!

Now, to answer some of your questions: no you will not see too much of Stephan in this story. I have an idea in mind for his story that will come later. You will see some of him and this chapter will tell you a little more about his personality, including whether he is like his father or not. This story is mainly Beth's story and much of it will take place without her family. But I'm getting ahead of myself…..

To Ultimate-Vader-Fan, I would never diss your name since I am ALMOST as big of a Star Wars nut as I am PoTO. In fact my first fanfic was written when I was 19 and it was a Star Wars fic. Maybe someday I'll post it….

Now, onto the story…..

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoTO or any of its characters. However, Beth & Stephan are all mine!

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_Two years later_

"Papa! Mama!"

Erik and I turned from where we sat in the music room to see our daughter, Beth, rushing into the room. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her long hair was in disarray, flying wildly about her face as she ran, most unladylike, into the room.

Erik smiled at her. Beth was his little princess and I never tired of seeing him smile whenever Beth was around. Ever since the night two years ago when Beth had been convinced that her father was ashamed of her and did not love her because he did not attend her recitals, all had been calm. Beth continued to perform, Erik still did not attend the performances, but they had, over the two years, grown close.

Beth was much like her father and both she and her singing had flourished under Erik's tutelage once the misunderstanding had been cleared up.

"What is it, Bethie," Erik asked as Beth stood before us, trembling in her excitement.

"A man from the Paris Opera House came to school today! Mademoiselle Frank arranged it! He came to hear me sing because Mlle Frank told him I was exceptional. Oh, Papa, he offered for me to be in the chorus once I am done with school!"

There was a silence as Beth's words sank in. I looked over at Erik, gauging his reaction. His face was expressionless, but I saw pride and another well-hidden emotion, fear or worry, I could not quite tell, deep in his eyes.

"Bethie, that is wonderful," Erik said immediately, covering whatever he was feeling with a tight smile as he pulled Beth to him in a hug.

"Monsieur D'Aubigne, he is the manager of the Opera House, he said he has never heard of a fifteen year-old who could sing as well as I. He said if he did not know better he would have thought I was much older. He wanted me to come now, but Mlle Frank told him I had to finish my studies first. Oh, Mama, can you believe it?"

I looked at my daughter, standing before me with her eyes shining with excitement. I was torn. Part of me was thrilled, of course, to think of my daughter singing on the same stage where I had once triumphed. Beth had an exceptional voice and would no doubt in time become the lead.

Yet at the same time I was apprehensive of the thought of her singing at the Paris Opera House. She was my and Erik's daughter. Erik was the Opera Ghost. What were the chances of her finding out?

I was certain that there was no one left at the Opera House from when I was there. Chances were the rumours of the Opera Ghost had died since Erik had left. I covered my unease with a smile as Beth was beginning to look anxious.

"That is wonderful, Beth," I said. "You have worked hard and you deserve it. Why do you not go out to the street to wait for Stephan and tell him? He should be arriving soon."

"Oh, yes, I will, Mama!" Beth said. She gave her father a quick kiss on his cheek before she hurried back out the door to wait for Stephan.

I turned to Erik. He was staring into space, a far-away look in his eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Erik?"

He turned to me and I saw an old, familiar haunted look in his eyes. It was the look that he always wore when he was remembering the past.

"Oh, Erik, what are we going to do?" I asked. "We cannot let her go there."

He looked at me, surprised. "Of course she will go."

"But Erik…"

Erik sighed heavily and stood. He walked to the organ and sat down. He began to play, escaping into his music as he always did when he was upset.

I stood beside him at the organ. He looked up at me and I saw the pain in his blue eyes. "I cannot deny my daughter the chance to sing, Christine. I cannot deny her what she has worked for her entire life."

"There are other Opera Houses, Erik. Ones that are free of our past…It does not have to be the Paris," I said softly.

"The Paris has always been the most prestigious."

"Yes, but…"

Erik shook his head, cutting me off. "No, Christine. I will not tell her no. It is not fair."

"But what if she finds out, Erik?"

He lowered his gaze back to the ivory keys. "She will not. There is new management. It has been eighteen years, Christine. I am certain that there is no one there that even remembers the Opera Ghost," he said stubbornly.

I sighed. "Perhaps," I said. Then after a pause I said, hesitantly, "Perhaps we should talk to her…"

Erik whirled around and stood angrily before me. "No," he snarled, his eyes flashing with anger that I had not seen in him for years. "We are not going to tell her anything. She will never know of my past, of our past. Do you understand?"

I fought back tears. No matter how far Erik had come, the past would always be there to cause him pain, I thought. "I understand," I said, my voice trembling. "We will not tell her anything."

Erik stared down at me and suddenly the anger in his eyes died. He turned and began to walk away.

"Erik!" I said.

He turned. "I am sorry, Christine. I need to be alone." He stalked from the room and a moment later I heard the door slam.

I sank back down on the couch. I stared at the doorway Erik had just disappeared through and tried to ignore my growing sense of unease.

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Hours later I stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Erik had still not returned from wherever he had escaped to. Beth and Stephan had come in minutes after Erik left, both of them giddy with excitement.

They were both helping with dinner and Beth was still chattering about the Opera House, reciting the many facts that she had discovered in a book about the building.

Stephan listened quietly as he set the table. I looked over at my son and saw a deeply thoughtful look on his face.

Stephan was a puzzle. In so many ways he was just like his father. He was extremely musical. He could play any instrument given to him. He had mastered the violin in a matter of days and played beautifully. He had perfect pitch and at eight years old had written his first musical score. But he was shy, painfully so, and refused to play for anyone other than his family. He had a beautiful voice, though not nearly as good as his sisters', but he refused to sing, refused to take lessons. His music was private. He spent most of his time drawing up elaborate blueprints. Erik had told me once that he had done the same thing when he was a child. The child was brilliant, but he was so shy that he refused to show off his talents.

But as much like his father as he was, Stephan was also quite different. Unlike both his father and older sister Stephan did not have a temper or the mood swings that were common to both Erik and Elizabeth. He was sweet and gentle, usually quite happy. He had never had a tantrum as most toddlers did, and as an infant he had slept through the night by the time he was a week old. But as quiet as he could be, he was also unerringly optimistic. He was cheerful and had a cutting wit.

It sometimes seemed funny to me how both of our children had traits from both of us. Where Beth had a beautiful voice, better even than mine, she, like me, could not play any instruments. Though father had tried to teach me to play the violin, I had never been able to produce more than a rusty squawk from the instrument.

I sighed heavily, wondering where Erik had gone. A few moments later the front door opened and Erik walked into the kitchen not long after. I could tell he was still angry and upset, but he hid it well as he smiled gently at the children, a wistful look in his eyes. The years had certainly helped him to learn to control his temper, I thought.

We ate a quiet dinner, the silence broken only by Beth's happy chattering as she asked me about the Opera House. It was a year until she would turn sixteen and be finished with school. A year until she would leave us to go to live in Paris. It was a year, but suddenly it seemed a very short amount of time, indeed. Our daughter was quickly becoming a young woman, leaving her childhood behind and I was struck with a sudden pang of sadness.

I knew all too well the difficulties of losing your innocent childhood and joining the harshness of reality. And as much as I wished to protect my daughter I knew that I could only protect her for so long.

((well, what did you think? Please review and let me know!!))

**A/N:** See, I told you you'd find more out about Stephan. What did you think? I wanted Beth to be more like her father and Stephan more like Christine, yet both of them quite different from their parents. I think the normal way to go is to have Erik's son be just like him, which is why I decided to do it a little different!


	5. Erik

**A/N:** This is a short chapter, I know! But I want to keep the format of the story that each chapter is in one POV so it doesn't get confusing, so some of the chapters will end up being kind of short. The next chapter should be much longer! Apologies in advance if I'm not too prompt in getting updates done, what with Christmas coming up I'm really busy!

Big hugs and thanks to: ChoChangLookAlike, SummerSong, Menacer Phan, Elisabetta, AshleytheStrange, asdklfj, Mystery Guest and erik'sangel527 for your reviews!! Thanks also for your suggestions, I appreciate them! I love ya guys!!

MenacerPhan-thx for pointing out the Mama & Papa thing. I will address that in the next chapter.

erik'sangel-thanks for your suggestion regarding Erik's and Christine's relationship. I tried to fix that a little in this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I still do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_. But I am REALLY excited to see the movie and just bought myself a movie poster to put in my room. hehehe….

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I walked along the creek that ran alongside our cottage. The anger that had taken hold of me was still simmering inside of me. I knew it was not fair of me to take out my frustration on Christine. She was only looking out for me, trying to protect both me and our daughter.

The thought that Beth was going to sing at the Paris Opera House filled me with the most bittersweet of emotions. At once I was thrilled, yet at the same time I was terrified that my past would come out.

No matter how hard I tried to believe that there was no chance that she would find out, that surely everyone from my days as the Opera Ghost were long gone, I also believed in Karma. What goes around comes around and I knew that the things that I had done in the past were unforgivable.

I was torn between wanting to just confess now, tell my daughter the truth, and wanting to keep the past hidden in hopes that it would never come up and I could continue to be just Erik, Christine's husband and Stephan and Beth's father. I just wanted to forget the things that I had done, the manipulations, the murders (both intentional and accidental). I wanted to just forget all of it.

But it was not that easy.

xxx

When I had finally calmed down I walked into the house and went directly to the kitchen where Christine was busy fixing dinner, Beth and Stephan helping. At least, Stephan was helping. Beth was too excited and too busy going on about the Opera House. I looked wistfully at my little girl, wishing she could stay that way forever. An innocent child that did not have to face the harshness of a cruel world. I smiled wryly at that thought, remembering the many times I had seen Christine, seen her innocence and wanted nothing more than to take that innocence away from her, force her to see the darkness in the world, shake her from that hazy dreamland she had always been in.

I had succeeded in that, a fact which I was not proud of. The things I had done to her…

I cut the thought off at the quick. There was no sense in dwelling on what had happened. It was over and done with.

We ate a quiet dinner, with Beth asking about the Opera House, about the dormitories that Monsieur D'Aubigne had said she would live in, where Christine herself had lived until a certain Ghost had helped her salary increase so that she could afford a flat of her own.

We were finishing dinner, the children gathering dishes to take to the kitchen, when Beth suddenly said, "Did you know that there is a lake beneath the Opera House? When they were building the Opera House they discovered it and built around it."

I glanced over at Christine, whose face had paled slightly at Beth's words. I had the most insane urge to start laughing.

"Why yes, Beth, I did know that," Christine said, her voice somewhat tight.

"Did you ever get to see it?"

Christine glanced at me, her eyes wide. She was looking to me to decide what to say, what to tell Beth. I looked at her helplessly.

"The catacombs beneath the Opera House are off limits to the performers," Christine said at last, not answering Beth's question.

Beth looked disappointed. "I so wished to know what it looked like."

Feeling suddenly suffocated I stood up and went directly to the basement music room where I could be alone.

I do not know how long I was down there, staring at the ivory keys of the organ when I heard the door open and the soft footsteps of Christine coming down the stairs.

She said nothing as she came to stand next to me at the organ.

"Erik," she said softly.

I clenched my jaw and looked up at her. My emotions were whirling around inside of me as I looked into Christine's green eyes, which were warm and compassionate.

"Erik, Bethie loves you. You could talk to her, she would understand…"

"Understand? What is there to understand? Her father is a monster, what else is there to say? She could not understand the things I did, who I was then. She would be horrified, disgusted. I cannot tell her."

Christine pressed her lips together. "You do not give her enough credit."

I stood then. Laughing cynically I turned away from Christine. "It is not a matter of giving her enough credit. How can I expect a child to understand why I did the things I did?"

"I understood," Christine said softly.

I turned sharply, expecting, I suppose, to see some sort of pain, some sort of regret, in her eyes. But there was nothing but love and acceptance.

"Please, Erik, do not shut me out again. I am your wife and I love you. Let me be there for you," she said quietly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

I took a deep breath, wanting to argue, wanting to push her away. But here she was, proving once again the depth of her love and commitment to me.

Silently I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me. She sighed in relief and clung to me and I realised anew how truly lucky I was to have Christine in my life.

I buried my face into her silky hair. I took a deep breath and smelled the faint scent of lavender. "I love you, Christine," I murmured against her hair.

"And I love you, Erik," she replied softly.

I was lucky, so very lucky that she had forgiven me my sins and loved me despite my past. But the thought of telling my daughter about my past was terrifying and I knew I could not tell her. I just hoped that my past would stay where it belonged, in the past, and would not come back to haunt me any further.

xxx

From that day forward I vowed to be as honest as I could with my daughter without actually telling her any of the many things I had done. When she asked about the Opera House Christine and I told her the things that anyone who had performed there knew. It satisfied Bethie's insatiable curiosity while still keeping my past from her.

Whenever I started to feel guilty for lying to my daughter I ruthlessly told myself I was protecting her, I was doing what was the best.

Somehow I never quite believed myself…

((more to come! please remember to review and tell me what you think! Thank you!!))


	6. Beth

A/N: Well, here it is. An actual long chapter! Told ya it was coming! :) In this chapter we get to see more of Beth. Let me know what you think!!

Big hugs and thanks out to: erik'sangel527 & Summersong for your reviews!! Love ya guys!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Phantom _or its characters.

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_........"**Music is our myth of the inner life." …..Suzanne K Langer**_

"Elizabeth, I need to see you after class."

Several of my classmates giggled at that, thinking I was certainly in trouble. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes I felt so much older than the rest of my classmates.

I could not help but wonder what Mlle Frank wanted, though. By nature I was curious, and patience was most certainly not one of my virtues. Mama always said that I took after Papa in that respect.

By the time class ended I was quite curious about what Mlle Frank wanted. When the rest of my classmates had left Mlle Frank called me to the front of the room.

"Elizabeth, there is someone here who would like to meet you."

I looked around curiously just as an older gentleman in a dark suit entered the room. Another younger man followed him.

"This is Monsieur D'Aubigne and Monsieur Deniaud," Mlle Frank said, motioning towards the older gentleman, then the younger. "Messieurs, this is Mademoiselle Elizabeth deNuit," Mlle Frank said, smiling proudly.

Both of the men bowed slightly and I curtsied. Though I knew I should keep my eyes down, as was the ladylike thing to do, I kept my eyes raised, gauging the men. The older gentleman's face was expressionless, only the slightest flicker of curiosity in his eyes. The younger man just looked bored.

I smiled politely at the men. I was not sure who they were or what they wanted.

"Elizabeth," Mlle Frank said, "These gentlemen are from the Paris Opera House."

Instantly my curiosity was stirred. The Paris Opera House was where my mother and father had met. Where my mother had once been _Prima Donna._

"Monsieur D'Aubigne is the manager of the Opera House, and Monsieur Deniaud is the chorus master. They are here to hear you sing."

I gasped, my eyes widening. "What?"

"Young lady, your teacher has corresponded with us about what she calls your _remarkable_ talent. She roused our curiosity sufficiently that we felt we had to hear this phenomenon," Monsieur D'Aubigne said. His voice was rough and his dark eyes were sharp, though not unkind.

"Yes, according to your teacher you are quite the protégé," Monsieur Deniaud said dryly. His grey eyes were mocking as he looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

I understood now. Mlle Frank had boasted about me and the men came to see whether or not I was as good as Mlle Frank had said. Obviously Monsieur Deniaud thought the whole thing was a waste of time. I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to glare at the arrogant young man.

"Come," Mlle Frank said. "Come and hear for yourselves." She ushered the men ahead of her, taking us to the music room.

"You will be fine, Elizabeth," she whispered to me. "You are magnificent. I will explain everything later."

I nodded. I was confused but followed them down the hall to the auditorium.

"Shall we do the piece from_ Faust_, then?" Mlle Frank asked of the two men. Monsieur D'Aubigne nodded and Monsieur Deniaud rolled his eyes.

"A child singing _Faust_?" I heard him mutter. "This should be amusing."

The two men took seats on the front row, while Mlle Frank led me to the stage. She motioned me to centre stage and I stood there, trying to calm my suddenly fluttery stomach.

"Elizabeth, we will do the song from Act 3, Scene 6: _'Je voudrais bien savior'_…" Mlle Frank said and I nodded confidently. Papa and I had practised this piece a million times. I had sung the part of Marguerite many times, and heard Mama sing it as well.

Mlle Frank sat at the piano and began to play. I looked down at the men. Monsieur D'Aubigne was smiling politely and Monsieur Deniaud had his arms folded.

I would show them. I took a deep breath, remembered every last lesson Papa had given me and I began to sing, my voice filling up the empty auditorium, swelling to capture the emotion and the vocal range of Marguerite.

I watched as the men froze at the sound of my voice. They sat up, leaning toward the stage, toward me, as I sang. The look of boredom on Monsieur Deniaud's face changed to a look of utter disbelief, while Monsieur D'Aubigne looked astounded.

"Stop!" M Deniaud called out.

Mlle Frank stopped playing and I stopped singing. Mlle Frank came to stand next to me, her face tight with anger.

M Deniaud rushed up to the stage. "Wait, I should like to hear you sing acapella," he said. There was a calculating look in M Deniaud's eye, one which I understood immediately. He thought this was some kind of trick.

"What shall you have me sing?" I asked and raised an eyebrow, which was something my father always did.

"Anything," he said as M D'Aubigne joined us on the stage.

I began to sing, my anger at the arrogant chorus master pushing away any nervousness I might have felt. The song was one from _Hannibal_, the song that had gotten my mother her first lead. I hoped it would bring me the same luck it had brought her.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly,_

_When we've said goodbye._

_Remember me, once in a while_

Please promise me you'll try…" 

While I sang M Deniaud studied me and when I finished singing, holding the last note out even past where the song required, the two men began applauding. I glanced at Mlle Frank who nodded at me proudly.

She put an arm around my shoulder as we faced the two men, who both looked shell-shocked. Monsieur Deniaud's grey eyes were wide.

"I cannot believe it. If I did not see with my own eyes how old you are I would never have believed that voice could come from one so young," Monsieur Deniaud said. "It was magnificent, absolutely perfect."

Monsieur D'Aubigne wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Mademoiselle, you were absolutely correct in contacting me. I have never heard such a voice before, and most certainly not from someone fifteen years of age. My dear, you were superb."

"Thank you," I said, my eyes glowing with pride. How Papa would have laughed at the looks on the men's faces!

"Your teacher tells us that your mother once sang at the Paris," Monsieur D'Aubigne said.

"Yes, she was the Prima Donna years ago, before she married my father," I replied.

"What is her name, dear?" M D'Aubigne asked.

"Christine deNuit," I said.

"What was her name before she married?"

"I am not sure," I replied. "She has never said."

M D'Aubigne's eyebrows furrowed. "Ah, well. I did not attend the Paris Opera much before it closed down."

There was a lengthy pause in which the men studied me, and then looked at each other.

"Mlle DeNuit, I would like to offer you a spot in the chorus at the Paris Opera when you are finished with your schooling."

I gasped, staring at the men. "A spot in the chorus?"

"Yes. And no doubt with a voice like yours you will move quickly through the ranks and be _Prima Donna_ someday, just like your mother," M D'Aubigne said.

I stood, stunned, as the men discussed with Mlle Frank the particulars of a contract with the Paris. At sixteen I would be the youngest in the chorus. I would stay in the dormitories. Monsieur Deniaud would be my voice coach; a Madame Marchand was the ballet mistress and would help me with my dancing.

My mind was whirling by the time the men left, promising to keep in touch with Mlle Frank throughout the coming year until school ended.

As soon as they were gone Mlle Frank turned to me and grasped my hands. "Oh, Elizabeth, I knew you could do it. You sang beautifully!"

"Oh, thank you Mlle Frank, thank you for writing to them!" I said.

"I hope your parents will not be upset, but I knew that it would be a wonderful opportunity for you."

"Oh, they will not be upset. My father will be thrilled that I will be singing at the Paris Opera," I said. "I have to hurry home and tell them!"

Mlle Frank laughed. "Come, I will walk with you," she said.

"Thank you," I replied and followed her as she gathered up her belongings. We began walking in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

The Paris Opera House! I thought excitedly. In just a year I would sing on the same stage where my mother had sung.

I imagined myself standing centre stage, singing, Mama, Papa and Stephan on the front row.

Elizabeth deNuit, _Prima Donna_ of the Paris Opera House.

I rather liked the sound of that.

xxx

When we reached the street that led to my house I bid Mlle Frank goodbye and ran the rest of the way home. When I reached the door my hair had come loose from its bun, the wild curls framing my face as I flung the door open and ran to the music room where I found Mama and Papa sitting, talking, on the couch.

"Papa! Mama!" I called as I ran into the room.

They looked up, startled.

Papa smiled at me. "What is it, Bethie?" he asked.

"A man from the Paris Opera House came to school today! Mademoiselle Frank arranged it! He came to hear me sing because Mlle Frank told him I was exceptional. Oh, Papa, he offered for me to be in the chorus once I am done with school!" I said in a rush, trembling with excitement.

There was silence. Mama and Papa glanced at each other and I saw some kind of emotion flicker in his eyes. It was gone in an instant as he pulled me toward him. "Bethie, that is wonderful," he said.

"Monsieur D'Aubigne, he is the manager of the Opera House, he said he has never heard of a fifteen year-old who could sing as well as I," I said. "He said if he did not know better he would have thought I was much older. He wanted me to come now, but Mlle Frank told him I had to finish my studies first. Oh, Mama, can you believe it?"

"That is wonderful, Beth," Mama said, but I sensed the hesitation in her voice. I thought it was likely that she was sad at the thought of me leaving to live in Paris. "You have worked hard and you deserve it. Why do you not go out to the street to wait for Stephan and tell him? He should be arriving soon."

"Oh, yes, I will, Mama!" I said. I gave Papa a quick kiss on his cheek and practically skipped back outside to the end of the drive to wait for Stephan to arrive home from school.

I could not wait to tell Stephan my news. Even though he was two years younger than me, Stephan was my best friend. It sometimes seemed as if he were the older sibling and I the younger. He had always been so serious, had always seemed much older.

There were times I admit that I was jealous of Stephan. He had a wonderful voice and he was so talented! He could play just about any instrument; he had a natural talent with music. I, on the other hand, could not play any instruments though Papa had tried to teach me when I was a child. His blueprints had astounded his teachers and he had a brilliant mind with anything to do with science. His teacher's said he was a genius, and had wanted to send him to an exclusive school, but he did not want to go.

The instant I saw Stephan turn the corner to walk up the drive that led to the house I ran to meet him.

"Stephan, Stephan! You will never believe what happened today at school!" I said excitedly.

"What happened?" he asked, his melodic voice serious.

I told him what had happened. He listened intently, laughing when I told him that the arrogant chorus master had thought we were tricking him. He was proud when I told him what the men had said about my voice. And he was ecstatic when I told him that they had offered me a spot in the chorus when I was done with school.

"That is wonderful, Beth! You will be the star in no time," he said, and I blushed at his praise.

We went inside then and Stephan went to his room to study and I went to my room to look through a book that I had bought the previous year. It was about the construction of the Paris Opera House. In just one year I would be singing there and I wanted to know everything about it!

When it was time for dinner Mama called Stephan and me to help. Stephan set the table while I prepared a salad. Papa had gone for a walk and had not returned. He finally came back right before we were going to eat. I was too excited to notice the tension between my parents.

While we were clearing the table after dinner I turned to Mama and said, "Did you know that there is a lake beneath the Opera House? When they were building the Opera House they discovered it and built around it."

Mama's face went pale. "Why yes, Beth, I did know that," Mama said tightly.

"Did you ever get to see it?" I asked, my eyes wide.

There was a pause. Mama glanced at Papa, who was sitting stiffly in his chair.

"The catacombs beneath the Opera House are off limits to the performers," Mama said finally.

"Oh!" I said. "I so wished to know what it looked like."

Papa stood then and left the room then, heading in the direction of his downstairs music room. I watched him go, wide eyed.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.

Mama shook her head. "No, Beth, you did not say anything wrong," she said, giving me a bright smile. "Why do you not go to your room and finish your studies?"

I glanced at Stephan, who looked thoughtful. I nodded at Mama and went upstairs, feeling confused and hurt. Something was wrong, something that had to do with the Opera House. I was not stupid, I saw how talk of the Opera House affected my parents.

Resolved to talk to them and ask what was wrong, I went downstairs. They were not in the music room or the kitchen. I thought that they were most likely in the downstairs music room, so I went to the door that led to it. I had just put my hand at the knob when I heard their voices from downstairs.

"Erik, Bethie loves you," I heard Mama say, her voice pleading. "You could talk to her, she would understand…"

"Understand?" Papa said loudly. "What is there to understand?"

My eyes widened. I knew I should not be listening in to their conversation, so I backed away from the door, the voices muffled as I got further away from the door. As I turned to leave I heard him shout, "I cannot tell her."

I ran all the way back to my room, my heart pounding.

What were they talking about? What would I understand, what could he not tell me?

Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. I had always felt like Mama and Papa were hiding something from me. Now I was certain of it. Unfortunately I was no closer to knowing what the secret was than I had been before.

Somehow I would find out, I vowed. I was not certain of how I would find out, but somehow, some way, I would figure out the secret.

((What do you think? Please review and let me know!! Thanks!!))


	7. Beth

**A/N**: OH MY GOD!! Could it be? Is it an UPDATE??? Yes, it is! It really is!!!

I apologize profusely for the horrible amount of time it took me to get this chapter out. I was struck by a sudden and horrible case of PWB (Phantom Writers Block) and my muse decided to take a month long hiatus. But it seems to be back, at least somewhat. So, here is the next chapter. Sorry for the kind of abrupt end, but it kinda had to end there.

And now, for the **BIG LIST OF THANK YOU'S!!!** I hope I didn't lose all of ya by taking so long to update!! Anyways, big hugs and thanks to: MenacerPhan, SummerSong, erik'sangel527, Tailfeather, Kaya DC Pandora, Moonjava, ChoChangLookAlike, asdfj, Ultimate Vader Fan, Butterfly of Lothlorien, The Cure, annecordelia, Padfootz-luvr, Elisabetta, neo-lover72, SennaWales and Hopeyheartbear for your wonderful reviews!!!

To SennaWales: thank you for your reviews and critiques. I appreciate the tips, they just help me improve my writing!!

**One last note:** I am aware that my Erik in this story is somewhat OOC, compared to different versions of the story. Just to let you know, my Erik is not a maniacal murderer anymore. He is a haunted man with a horrible past who is trying to put his past behind him and move on. However, even when you try to be 'redeemed' sometimes the world doesn't let you forget your past. This is the basis of the story. SO if Erik seems OOC, I apologize. But my Erik has changed his ways, found love and happiness, at least as much as he and the world will allow him.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoTO, or the original characters. However, anyone you do not recognize from the Original book (s) or plays are my own characters.

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The next year seemed to fairly creep by. The day after I was offered the spot in the chorus at the Paris Opera Mlle Frank announced the news to my entire class, after which none of the girls would speak to me. They were jealous. They wished to have the chance I had been given. One of the older girls told me I was the teacher's pet and the name stuck and soon the entire class called me that.

I learned to just ignore them. I only had a year left, then I would move to Paris and sing with the Opera and it really did not matter what they thought anyway.

I never gathered the courage to talk to my mother or father, so I learned nothing more about their secret. I could never admit that I had overheard them talking and there never seemed to be an opportunity to question them. When I did have questions about the Opera House, they would sometimes answer them and then quickly change the subject. But usually I did not get an answer at all. All of which made me even more curious about what they could possibly be hiding.

After a while, though, I stopped worrying about it. I did not _forget,_ but I figured that I was not going to find out the truth, at least not yet, so I focused on finishing school and continuing voice lessons with Papa and ballet lessons.

The school year finished and I was happy to be done with it. It had been a horrible year.

The last day of school Monsieur D'Aubigne came back to have me sign a contract. Mother was there and greeted the Opera manager graciously. He went on about my talent and Mother practically glowed with pride. Monsieur D'Aubigne was disappointed that Papa had not come as well, but Mother just said that he had business to attend to and was unable to come.

The contract stated that I would sing at the Opera for three years time, in which I would start as a chorus girl. I would live in the dormitories and the price of boarding would be deducted from my salary.

Mother looked over the contract and asked me if I agreed. I did and so the contract was signed and I felt a rush of excitement as I handed the contract back to M. D'Aubigne.

Then we discussed my arrival, which would be expected within a week of my sixteenth birthday, which was on July 24th. That left almost two months before I could go, two last months to spend with my mother and father and Stephan. As we shook hands and said our good-byes I was hit with a sudden rush of sadness that I would be leaving my family.

But my career was already underway and I was only fifteen years old. The thought was thrilling!

We took a carriage home. We sat in silence for several minutes before Mother smiled at me and said, "Bethie, I am so proud of you!"

"Thank you, mother," I said, smiling. More than anything I cherished my mother and father's praise.

"I am going to miss you when you leave," Mother said with a sad little smile. "I hope you will come home to visit in between productions."

"Of course I will, Mama," I said, slipping back into my childhood name for her. "I will miss you, all of you, so much!"

Mother pulled me into her arms and hugged me tightly to her. "You will love the Opera, Beth. It is so beautiful. And the feeling when you sing on that stage for the first time…it is amazing."

I smiled and thought of it, standing on the stage, singing. "You and Papa and Stephan will come to see me sing, will you not?" I asked.

Mother's gaze flickered away from mine and she stared out the carriage window. Her green eyes were sad as she turned to face me.

"Bethie, Stephan and I will, but you should know that your Papa cannot," she said quietly.

I sighed, half in anger and half in sadness. "I just thought…"

"I know, sweetheart. He would come if he could."

I nodded and looked down at my hands, trying not to let my mother see the tears that were pricking my eyes. Of course I had known he would not come, but it still hurt.

Xxx

The day of my sixteenth birthday dawned bright and sunny, promising a hot summer day. I got up and dressed early. The house was silent; everyone seemed to still be asleep. I left Sasha sleeping on my bed and crept downstairs.

I went outside and walked to the small stream that ran alongside our house. I sat down at the edge of the water, lost in thought. I had much to think about. Mother and I were to leave for Paris in three days time. I was elated, excited, yet at the same time I was terrified, thinking of all of the new people I would meet. Monsieur D'Aubigne had said I was the youngest of the chorus girls. No doubt the other girls would be far more talented than I, more sophisticated and elegant. My insides turned to ice when I thought of how the other girls from school had treated me. To endure that for three years while I was with the Paris Opera was a horrifying thought.

I had only three days left with my family before travelling to the unknown of Paris. Mother was to accompany me, while Stephan andPapa were staying home. Stephan had wanted to come, but his classes started before Mother was going to return, so he was staying home.

I heard the soft tread of footsteps behind me and I turned to see who was there. It was Papa. He stood behind me, wearing dark pants and a white shirt. His blue eyes were solemn as he studied me. As always, his gaze made me think he was looking right through me, into my very soul. Mother had once said that Papa could see far beyond the surface, and the older I got, the more I understood and agreed with that comment.

"Happy Birthday, Bethie," Papa said.

"Thank you, Papa," I said.

"Are you ready to go to Paris?" he asked.

I sighed and gazed out at the water. "I suppose," I said softly. I took a deep breath, determined not to say anything, determined not to let my father see my weakness.

Papa sat next to me. "What is wrong?" he asked gently.

I bit my bottom lip, trying to decide what to say. Finally I looked up at my father and saw the concern in his eyes and I took a deep breath. "Oh, Papa, I am so nervous!" I said finally, my words coming out in a rush. "What if I am not good enough? What if the other girls tease me? What if I make a fool out of myself?"

Papa regarded me cautiously, looking as if he were carefully weighing his words. "Oh, Bethie, my child. You are a lovely, talented young lady. You will be magnificent," he said. "Why do you think the other girls would tease you?"

"Because I am so young, and…childish."

"Childish?" he repeated.

"Yes. They will all be so worldly, so knowledgeable. And I am not."

Papa laughed gently. "Oh, Bethie. Most of the girls in the chorus will not be much different than you. They will all be young. Many of them may have lived in the dormitories for years, but they live sheltered lives. Their life is the stage, the ballet and the music. They will not be so different. It will not be like school. There will be girls that will envy your talent, no doubt of that. But most likely they will not tease you."

I looked at him in surprise, wondering how he had found out. He gave a slight smile. "Bethie, I know you. I have seen how unhappy you have been. I heard you talking to Stephan. I only wish you would have talked to me."

I looked down at my hands. I was twisting the edge of my dress, something I always did when I was nervous. "I-I did not want to bother you with my trivial problems."

"They are not trivial," Papa said firmly. "You may talk to me about anything."

I looked up at him. "Why will you not come to Paris with me and mother?" I blurted out.

Papa looked away from me, a distant look in his eyes. When he looked back at me, I was struck by the pain in his eyes. "Bethie, I would like nothing more, but I cannot."

"Why?" I asked plaintively.

He sighed heavily. "There are things…things that I do not wish to remember, that I do not wish to speak of. One day you will understand, but I cannot go to the Opera House."

"Why will you not tell me?" I asked, standing. My heart was racing.

Papa stood in a smooth, graceful movement. "I love you, Bethie. All I ask is that you just believe me when I say that I wish that I could. All I ask is that you forgive me for not coming with you."

Tears prickled behind my eyes as I realized that I was never going to know the truth. I was right, there was a secret, something terrible, that my parents were not telling me.

I wished I could do as my father asked, I wished I could just forget it, but I could not.

Blinded by tears, I ran into the woods to be alone.

((Well what did you think? Please please review and let me know!!! Thank you!!!!))


	8. Christine

**A/N:** Wow, another update, and it didn't take a month, either! :)

This chapter is a lead up to the next chapter which will, I promise, have more action in it. I will also stray from my regular format and do the next chapter split between several POV's, since each part will be too short to constitute and entire chapter. As always, I appreciate your reviews. And I'm glad you didn't give up on me!!

**Big hugs and thanks to:** Padfootz-luvr, neo-lover72, Butterfly of Lothlorien, Senna Wales, Ultimate-Vader-Fan, MenacerPhan, phtmangl1013, tactics, Elisabetta and loverly16. You guys are the best!!!!

**Senna Wales:** thanks again for pointing out my mistake, I fixed it! :) Also, I never received your e-mail. If you sent it to the fanfic e-mail I never get anything from there. If you send me any more (and I appreciate the critiques!) send them to the Yahoo one, please!!

**Disclaimer:** I still do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_. Dang.

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I walked along the path that led from the house into the woods. As I neared the creek I saw a lone figure standing by the creek. It was Erik.

I went to stand by him. He was tense, his shoulders tight as he stood, hands clenched. "Erik?" I said softly.

He turned to face me and his eyes were haunted. There was such pain, such despair, in their depths that I felt a deep rush of sympathy. "Oh, Erik. What is it?"

"I will never be free of my past, Christine. No matter what, it will always haunt me," he said bleakly, staring out at the slow moving waters of the creek.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

Erik sighed. "It is Bethie. She wants to know why I will not go to with her to the Opera House."

I sighed. "Perhaps it is time to tell her, Erik."

"NO!" he said vehemently. "She is just a child. To tell her now may well cause her to hate me, to fear me."

"Oh, Erik," I said sadly. "But…"

"No," he said harshly, turning to face me. "She thinks I do not care, but how can I expect her to feel any different? Every child wants to know that their parents are proud of them. To feel loved, special."

There was a distant look in his eyes that I knew meant that he was not just thinking about Bethie. Of course, I knew of his miserable childhood, the horrible way his mother had treated him because of his face. It had never occurred to me, until then, that he was in such fear of his own children feeling the same way about him as he did about his mother.

"Erik, she knows you love her. She is just disappointed, confused. If we just told her…"

"Absolutely not. I will not have my own daughter hate me," Erik said sharply. His eyes flashed with anger. "She will never know the truth."

"Erik, you cannot expect to hide it from them forever," I said softly.

"They never need to know," Erik said. Then he turned and stalked back towards the house, where I knew he would go and hide away in the basement music room for hours.

I sighed. I understood why he did not want to tell Beth and Stephan of his past, but at the same time, he was their father. They deserved to hear the truth from him, not risk hearing of it elsewhere. He did not give them enough credit. He _was_ their father and I was certain that the truth would not change the way they felt about him.

But I knew all too well how stubborn Erik could be when he set his mind to something. I just hoped that in time he would change his mind and tell his children the truth.

xxx

Beth's birthday celebration was quiet. Beth and Erik were both still upset. Stephan and I tried to keep things light, but there was an underlying tension that was unmistakable. I had a bad feeling that that tension was just going to keep getting worse, rather than better.

Then, suddenly, it was the day of our departure. Beth's trunks were packed and she was ready to go. She was solemn and no matter how hard I tried to get her to talk to me, she just insisted nothing was wrong, that she was simply nervous.

The day dawned bright and sunny, promising to be a beautiful summer day. Out in the country where we lived the summers were mild, not as hot as it was in the city, where we were headed. Bethie had never been away from the little town we lived in and I knew that the great city of Paris would be an amazing sight to her.

The carriage that would take us to the city was due to arrive early in the morning. It was over a days trip, but we would not be stopping, rather we would drive straight through to arrive at the Opera House the next day, late in the morning.

Stephan and Erik brought Beth's trunks and my suitcases down and sat them on the wide front porch. Then we gathered in the music room. Beth was nervously picking at her dress as she sat on the couch. Her face was pale and there was the faintest hint of fear in her blue eyes, though she was trying hard to hide it.

Stephan, who was peering anxiously out the window, waiting for the carriage, suddenly said, "Here it is, coming up the drive!"

Beth jumped up as Stephan ran outside to meet the driver.

Erik walked over to his daughter. His face was drawn, his eyes, so much like hers, were filled with a million emotions, sadness being the most prominent as he looked down at Beth.

"I love you, my child," he said softly. "You are so talented, Bethie. You will be magnificent."

She looked up at him and I saw her anger melt away as she threw herself into his arms. "I love you too, Papa. I will make you proud, I promise!" she said.

"I am already proud," Erik said. "I will miss you."

"Oh, I will miss you, too. All of you!" Beth said.

Erik handed her a pouch, which I knew contained money, more money than Beth had ever held in her lifetime.

"You take care of this money," Erik said. "And if you need anything, anything at all, you send word to us."

"Yes, Papa. I will. Thank you," Beth said.

Erik hugged her one last time as Stephan came back inside. "Everything is loaded on the carriage," he said.

"Thank you, Stephan," I said.

Beth hugged Stephan tightly. "I will miss you, little brother," she said, wiping at her tears as they parted.

"And I will miss you, too. But I will come and see you perform! Mama promised!" Stephan said.

Determined to keep the conversation away from an argument, I gave Stephan a hug and he and Beth went outside. I turned to Erik. "I will miss you," I said. It would be the first time we had been separated since our marriage over eighteen years ago.

"I will miss you, too," he said softly. He pulled me into his arms and I sighed. When we parted I looked up into his eyes and saw the unmistakable flash of fear, deep in his eyes.

"What is it?" I asked. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I only wish I could accompany you," he said, covering his emotions easily and giving me a sardonic smile. "The Opera has been without a Ghost for far too long, but I think he should stay retired."

I sighed, but, lacking anything to say to that, I simply kissed Erik on the cheek and allowed him to lead me to the front door. We walked outside to the carriage, where Stephan was stroking the lead horse's nose. There was a last round of hugs, then Erik helped Bethie and I into the carriage. The driver slapped the reins lightly over the horses backs and the carriage lurched forward. Beth hung out the window, waving to Stephan and Erik. Stephan waved back, but Erik merely watched us go, his eyes once again betraying his fear. Though what exactly he was afraid of I could not guess. There were so many things haunting him that it was impossible to know.

Xxx

The drive to Paris was long, hot and uncomfortable. Beth slept most of the way, no doubt she was exhausted from worrying.

I looked out the carriage window in amazement. It had been a long time, far too long, since I had been away from home. Things had changed so much over the years.

But nothing prepared me for my first glimpse of Paris in over eighteen years.

Beth woke up as we came upon the main road that led into the city. She looked out the window in wide-eyed fascination. The city had grown so much over the years, I barely recognised it. The streets were wider with an amazing amount of carriages filling the roads. What had once been open space was now filled with buildings.

I felt a flutter of anticipation in my stomach as we neared the Opera House. When the carriage finally drew to a stop I looked up at the magnificent building, my emotions see-sawing. I glanced over at Beth, whose mouth was open slightly as she peered out the little carriage window at the Opera Populaire.

The driver opened the door and helped us out. Once out of the little carriage Beth gazed up at the building, eyes wide. I smiled at the excitement in her eyes as she stared.

The driver unloaded the trunks and suitcases and sent word to the Opera's manager that we had arrived.

Moments later we were greeted by Monsieur D'Aubigne, who kissed our hands and welcomed us to the Opera.

"We are so glad to have you join us, Madame and Mademoiselle de Nuit. Mademoiselle, we are thrilled that you will be singing in our chorus," M D'Aubigne said, smiling broadly. "Come, come, I will show you around. You will find, Madame de Nuit, that not much has changed inside the Opera since you graced its stage."

I was immediately uncomfortable with his words. I was certain he meant no harm, that he did not even know my name before I married Erik, but still I was nervous. As exciting as it was, being back in Paris, walking up the broad stairs that led to the magnificent front doors, seeing the Opera House for the first time since I had left it to marry Erik, I was still afraid that something would go wrong, that someone would recognise me.

Of course, it had been a long time since the 'tragedy', since the Opera Ghost had wreaked havoc on the Opera Populaire. More than likely if anyone knew the story at all it was simply a myth, a tale now.

Or at least, I hoped so.

(( well, what did you think? How was the Erik/Christine interaction? I hope not too sappy, but I had to get across the fact that he's do darn stubborn to tell the kids the truth and why. Anyways as always, your opinions and reviews are welcomed!!!!! Thank you!!))


	9. Beth & Christine

**A/N:** Hello readers!! Big thanks to my many reviewers: The Maiden Amorisa, neo-lover72, af881, loverly16, Cloud in Crimson, tactics, Blue Eyes at Night, Senna Wales, Butterfly of Lothlorien, MenacerPhan, annecordelia and Elisabetta611.

If this chapter seems draggy, I'm sorry. I needed to get a lot in before Christine goes back home and I didn't want to have too many chapters before we get to the REAL action! lol

Anyways, you know the drill. Please review and thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own _Phantom of the Opera_. Dang it.

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Beth-

I could not believe it was finally the day of our departure to Paris. Mother was to accompany me there, see that I was settled in before she returned home without me.

When I awoke the morning we were to leave, the first thing I saw was Sasha, curled up on the foot of my bed. In the excitement of going to the Opera, I had not realised the reality of it all. I was leaving everything I knew behind. My family, my dog, my life. It was a daunting thought. But my desire to perform on the same stage as my mother far outweighed my fear of the unknown, and even the sadness I felt about leaving my family.

Papa and I had barely spoken since my birthday. I went out of my way to avoid him. I was certain that if we were to talk he would only try to placate me with excuses, and I would have none of it. I did not understand why he would not come to Paris to see me perform. I understood that he had a difficult time with crowds, with strangers, but was his love for me not strong enough for him to go, despite his dislike of people? Apparently it was not, and I was so confused, my thoughts running from thinking he was ashamed of me to thinking that he would be disappointed in me, in my performance.

I sighed as I got out of bed. I dressed quickly in a lightweight travelling dress. With one last glance at my room I went downstairs.

Mother, Papa and Stephan were in the kitchen. Mother was quietly fixing breakfast while Stephan sat on a chair, fiddling with his pocket watch, the one that Papa had given him.

We ate in silence, lost as we were in our own thoughts. I was at once excited to leave, and dreading it.

Papa and Stephan brought my trunks and Mother's suitcases down and set them on the front porch. I sat on the couch, playing with the hem of my dress, while my heart raced in anticipation….and fear.

Stephan, peering out the front window suddenly exclaimed that the carriage was coming down the drive. I leapt to my feet as Stephan ran outside. Papa came to stand before me and when I looked up into his eyes, I saw sadness there, sadness and regret.

"I love you, my child," he said quietly. "You are so talented, Bethie. You will be magnificent."

I looked at Papa and realised I did not know the next time I would see him. Suddenly my anger disappeared and I was filled with a rush of love for my father, remembering Mother's words of how difficult his life had been. I threw myself into his arms.

We said our goodbyes and Papa gave me a pouch of money. He told me if I needed anything, to send word to them, and I promised I would. Then Stephen came in and announced that the carriage was loaded.

I went outside with Stephan, giving Mother time to say her goodbyes to Papa.

"I really _am_ going to miss you, Bethie," Stephan said suddenly.

I turned to face my little brother. He had grown so much, he was much taller than I. Tall and lithe, so much like Papa. He even had Papa's gracefulness, an attribute that I envied.

"I am happy you are going to Paris. I know that it is what you want, but I will miss our talks," Stephan continued.

"And I will miss you, Stephan. You will take care of Sasha, right?" I asked anxiously. I had already said my goodbyes to the little dog, who was shut in the house.

"Of course," Stephan said. Then he shuffled his feet and pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me.

My eyes widened when I saw the pocketwatch.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want you to take it," he said. "To remember me by."

"Oh, Stephan," I said. "I cannot take your watch."

"Yes, I want you to. Please?" he said, looking at me with his eyes wide.

I smiled and tucked the watch into my pocket. "Thank you, Stephan," I said. I knew how much the watch meant to him, and it meant a lot to me that he wanted me to take it.

Mother and Papa came out of the house then. Before I knew it we were loaded into the carriage. The driver slapped the reins over the horses backs and the carriage rolled forward, taking me away from the only home, the only life that I had ever known, and taking me to my new life…in Paris.

Xxx

I awoke with a start as the carriage hit a rut. I glanced out the window and saw that we were approaching a very large city.

"Paris," Mother whispered from her seat across the carriage.

I looked over at her. She was staring out the window, smiling and looking like a young girl as she pointed out various things to me as the carriage drove along the busy streets.

It was not long before the carriage came to a stop in front of a very large building.

"This is it, Bethie! This is the Paris Opera House!" Mother said excitedly. She was smiling, but I could sense nervousness along with the excitement.

The driver helped us out of the carriage and I stood, staring up at the magnificent building, at the sculptures that graced the rooftop, at the wide stairs that led to the front doors.

Suddenly aware that I was gawking like a child, I straightened and tried to look calm, collected.

M. D'Aubigne came hurrying down the stairs to greet us. He fussed about, directing several young men where to take my trunks as Mother paid the driver.

"Come, come, I will show you around. You will find, Madame de Nuit, that not much has changed inside the Opera since you graced its stage," M D'Aubigne said as he took Mothers arm and led us up the stairs to the wide front doors.

My first glimpse of the interior of the Opera House proved that the books that I had read had not exaggerated.

It was magnificent! The Grand Staircase was everything I had imagined. People bustled about. Several women were on their knees, polishing the marble floor.

M D'Aubigne led us up the grand staircase and into the theatre. It was beautiful. A massive chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, which had carved mouldings. The theatre seats were covered in red velvet. The box seats had heavy velvet draperies. It was all so exquisite.

I glanced over at Mother and was surprised to see that her face was pale as she glanced around. Her excitement had disappeared and she looked fearful. Her eyes were wide as M. D'Aubigne led us along a back corridor that led to the stage. I felt a rush of excitement as I stood in the centre of the massive stage, looking out to the empty seats, imagining the thrill of performing on the stage, before a full house.

M D'Aubigne, unaware that anything was wrong, continued his commentary, telling us the details of the Opera House, when it was built, listing some of the many famous performers that had graced its stage.

"And you, Madame de Nuit. Mlle Frank said you performed here. Beg your pardon, but what name did you use when you performed?"

Mother stared at the manager as if she had not heard a word he said. "I am sorry, what did you ask?"

But before she could answer a tall young man came up to us.

"M D'Aubigne. Mlle de Nuit's things have been taken to her room," the man said.

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful. Shall I show you where you will be staying? You can freshen up and we can meet later to talk some more?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful," I said, when Mother did not answer. I looked at her curiously. Suddenly my mother no longer seemed like the strong, confident woman that I had always known.

From the moment we had walked into the Opera House, it was as if my Mother had suddenly become my age, a nervous, awkward teenager. She looked scared, glancing over her shoulder.

Suddenly my suspicions came flooding back to me.

There was something going on, something to do with this Opera House and my parents.

Now that we were here, perhaps I could finally get some answers, I thought.

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Christine-

Heart pounding in anticipation, I walked through the tall doors that led to the foyer of the Paris Opera House. M D'Aubigne followed us inside, chattering about renovations done to the theatre in recent years.

I stood at the foot of the Grand Staircase and a million memories flooded over me. Erik, walking down the stairs, dressed as the Masque of the Red Death. Erik, demanding the company to perform his Opera, _Don Juan Triumphant._

M. D'Aubigne continued the tour, up the staircase and into the theatre.

It was as if I had been swept back in time. The chandelier, unlit of course, hung majestically from the ceiling. The plush red velvet seats, the gilt trim, I remembered it all. I glanced up at Box Five and I almost expected to see a swish of cloak, to hear Erik's voice reverberating through the theatre. I felt my face pale as we followed M. D'Aubigne through a corridor that led to the stage.

I stepped onto the stage, feeling surrounded by the ghosts of the past as I looked up at the catwalks, as I looked out into the empty theatre.

"And you, Madame de Nuit. Mlle Frank said you performed here. Beg your pardon, but what name did you use when you performed?"

I glanced up, startled, when I realised that the manager was speaking to me. "I am sorry, what did you ask?" I said, flushing. But before I could answer a tall young man, most likely a dancer, came up to us.

"M D'Aubigne. Mlle de Nuit's things have been taken to her room," the man said.

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful. Shall I show you where you will be staying? You can freshen up and we can meet later to talk some more?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful," Bethie said when I did not answer. I felt strangely light-headed and hoped that I was not going to faint, right there on the stage.

We followed M. D'Aubigne downstairs to the dormitories. I had lived there briefly when I had first been in the chorus. But then my salary had been increased enough that I could afford a flat away from the Opera House. Meg Giry, daughter of Madame Giry, the ballet mistress when I had been in the chorus, had lived in the dormitories from the time she was a small child, and I had spent a lot of time there with her.

M. D'Aubigne showed Bethie to her room, which she would be sharing with two other girls, Therese Marchand, daughter of the current ballet mistress, and Astrid Levesque, who was another girl in the chorus.

Beth looked around her new space, clearly thrilled. Her trunks had been stacked by the bed that was to be hers. M. D'Aubigne left us to get Beth settled, asking us to meet him for tea in the Manager's office. He would introduce M Deniaud, the chorus master.

"I wish that you could meet out ballet mistress before you had to leave, Madame de Nuit. She was called away on family business, however, and will not return until after you have left."

I smiled. "I will meet her when I return to see Bethie's first performance," I said.

"Indeed," M. D'Aubigne replied. "Madame Marchand is quite a talented dancer, as is her daughter, Therese. You will meet Therese in a few days, when she and her mother return," he said to Beth.

"How old is Therese?" Bethie asked hopefully.

"She is your age," M. D'Aubigne replied. "She is a few months older than you. Well, I will leave you to your business. Please, come for tea as soon as you are finished."

We agreed, and he left.

Beth would be staying at the Opera House while I was to stay at a small hotel across the street from the Opera House. Then, the next day I was to go back home, leaving my daughter at the Opera House.

"Where are the other girls, Mother?" Beth asked as she hung her dresses in the wardrobe.

"I do not know, Beth," I replied. "Perhaps they are on holiday before the start of the next production."

Beth nodded. She kept looking at me curiously, but she said nothing as she unpacked her trunks. Once she was done, we left to go to meet M. D'Aubigne. As we walked through the empty corridors I had the strangest feeling of worlds colliding as I was drawn into the past.

It seemed that touches of Erik were everywhere, from the hidden passageways that I knew riddled the building to the large mirrors placed strategically in every room. Those were the two-way mirrors where Erik, the Phantom, stood to keep watch over the events at the Opera House all those years ago.

As we walked the hallway that led to the Manager's office, we passed the closed door that led to my old dressing room. I felt a strong urge to go inside, but as I did not know if it was occupied, I did not. Perhaps I would ask M. D'Aubigne if I could show Beth my old dressing room…

Beth walked alongside me, chattering happily. She seemed not to notice my distraction, or if she noticed, she chose not to say anything about it. We arrived at the Manager's Office, and the door was answered at our knock by a tall, dark-haired young man. He smiled as we entered, greeting Beth with a nod, as he took my hand and kissed it.

"Madame de Nuit, I presume," he said.

"Yes," I replied.

"I am Edouard Deniaud, the chorus master," he said. "Your daughter had quite astounding talent."

"Indeed, Bethie is quite talented," I replied.

Beth blushed slightly as M. Deniaud kissed her hand as well. He showed us in to the office and offered us seats, which we took. M. D'Aubigne poured tea and talked of the upcoming production of _Tristan and Isolde_ which was to begin in three months.

I found my mind wandering again as they talked. I stared at the large, gilt-framed mirror that took almost the entire wall across from where we sat. Again, another of Erik's mirrors. For a brief moment I almost forgot that I was a grown woman with a husband and two children. For a brief moment I felt as if I were there to perform, to once again be _Prima Donna_ of the Paris stage.

Then I glanced over at my daughter, deep in conversation with the handsome young chorus master. It was Bethie who was going to be the next Prima Donna. Of that I had no doubt.

I only hoped that my past, Erik's past, would remain buried. My worries were beginning to fade, however. It had been over sixteen years. There was no one left from my time at the Opera House, no one to know of Erik, other than of the fabled Opera Ghost.

What were the chances of Bethie finding out the truth if there was no one left that knew the truth?

((well, what do you think? please review!!))


	10. Christine & Beth

**A/N:** Hello faithful readers! Thank you for your patience, as I have (once again) gotten myself into too many projects! Bah! So I apologize in advance for the lengthy wait between chapters. Somehow the story isn't flowing the way I had hoped, but perhaps it will start to. If you have comments/suggestions don't hesitate to e-mail, and as always, all reviews are welcomed! 

**Big thanks go to:** Blue Eyes at Night, Cloud in Crimson, Senna Wales, neo-lover72, annecordelia, Elisabetta611, LoverofBalto, Mystery Guest, Kaya DC Pandora, Phtmangl1013, the copper araibian, loverly 16, oceansun, Aki T and aries-chica56 for your wonderful reviews! I appreciate them so much!

**Disclaimer:** from now on out, I'll assume you already know;)

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**Christine-**

After we finished our tea I turned to M. D'Aubigne and asked if anyone was using Dressing Room number two.

"Oh, yes," he replied. "Our leading soprano, Signora Maria Guidicelli."

My heart leapt into my throat when I heard the name. "Beg your pardon, but did you say Maria Guidicelli?" I asked.

M. D'Aubigne smiled benevolently. "Yes."

"I-is she any relation to La Carlotta Guidicelli?" I asked. I knew my face had paled and I tried to cover my distress.

"Ah, yes. La Carlotta, the famous soprano. Yes, Signora Guidicelli is La Carlotta's younger sister. Many would disagree, but I believe Maria's voice is far superior to her sister's. La Carlotta sang at this Opera House many years ago, before she moved back to Italy. Did you know la Carlotta?"

"No, no," I quickly. "I have just heard of her." I saw that Bethie was looking at me curiously, so I simply smiled. "I used that dressing room for a while and I was hoping to show it to my daughter."

"You were lead soprano?" M. Deniaud asked, his eyebrows raised.

"For a time," I said.

"Why, that is fascinating," M. D'Aubigne said. "What was your name before you married? Perhaps I saw you perform."

Bethie, M. D'Aubigne and M. Deniaud were all looking at me curiously and I suddenly felt trapped, suffocated, by a past that was long buried.

I briefly considered making up a name, but I could not bring myself to do it. So I sent up a brief prayer that neither of the men knew the story of the Phantom of the Opera and said, "My name was Christine Daae," I said.

Blank looks greeted my statement and I felt an incredible rush of relief. "I am sorry, but I do not recognise the name," M. D'Aubigne said apologetically. "But I have only lived in Paris a brief time and only took over the management of the Opera four years ago."

"Oh, that is fine," I said. "I performed for many years, but was only the lead for a brief time before I married."

"Why did you not continue to perform after you married? Did your husband not approve?" M. Deniaud asked.

"No, that is not it at all," Bethie interrupted, scowling at the chorus master. "Papa is an amazing musician, he was my mother's tutor."

"Bethie," I scolded her. Then I turned to M. Deniaud, desperate to change the subject, to get away from the dangerous territory we were treading on. "I wished to live in the country and raise a family," I said. "I was done with the stage."

M. Deniaud looked satisfied, but Bethie had a look on her face, one that I recognised well. It was a look of stubbornness that was so much like Erik. Though she said nothing more, I could easily see her curiosity.

"Well, Signora Guidicelli as not here today, I do not suppose it would be a problem to let you show your daughter," M. D'Aubigne said. "I will take you."

With that, M. Deniaud excused himself and M. D'Aubigne led Beth and I down the hall to Dressing Room number two. He unlocked the door with a master key and went inside, gesturing us to follow. I went inside and was once again swept up in a million memories.

I closed my eyes briefly and it was almost as though I could hear Erik's voice in my mind, as I had heard it so many times as he had come to me as my Angel of Music. _"I am your Angel. Come to me."_

I opened my eyes and walked towards the ornate, gilt framed mirror that took up part of the wall. I stood before it, staring at my pale reflection.

My reflection had changed much since the last time I had looked at my face in the mirror. I was older, more mature. No longer the weak child I had been. So much had changed, and yet, as I stood there it was strangely as if I had never left. For a brief moment I wished that I was alone, that I could open the hidden mirror and go down through the catacombs to the lake below. I wondered if Erik's gondola was still there, if I went across the lake if his rooms were still intact or if the police had destroyed it when they went to find Erik the second time.

"This was your dressing room, Mother? It is magnificent!"

I was startled out of my reverie by the sound of Bethie's voice. My daughter, Erik's and my child. I looked over at her and smiled gently. "Yes. It is, is it not?"

Bethie looked around the room, wide eyed. Not much had changed since I had left. There was still the same furniture, the same dressing screen, the same wardrobe. I glanced down at the dressing table, half expecting to find one of Erik's red roses.

I smiled faintly, lost in memories, until I saw a framed daguerreotype sitting on the dressing table. I looked at it and recognised a young Carlotta, standing with a much younger girl, whom I assumed was her sister, Marie. She was very pretty, much prettier than Carlotta. Maria's young face held none of the coldness that her sister's did. I felt a cold chill rush through me as I thought of the possible repercussions of Carlotta's sister and Beth being in the same Opera House. But perhaps Maria knew nothing of the Opera Ghost. After all, if she did, why would she be performing at the same place where her sister's lover had died?

The thought of Ubaldo Piangi's death made me feel slightly ill. Erik had not murdered him in cold blood, but he was responsible for the heart attack that had taken his life.

I had the horrible feeling of things spinning out of my control and I wished Erik were there, that I could talk to him about what was happening. I did not know what to do, and after so many years of feeling strong and confident, I did not like the feeling of weakness and fear that had come over me since I had stepped through the doors of the Paris Opera House.

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**Beth-**

I watched my Mother's face carefully as we entered the dressing room. I could see the conflicting emotions of excitement and trepidation clearly on her face. I had not for an instant believed her dismissal of Maria and Carlotta Guidicelli, that she did not know Carlotta. I had seen her face pale when M. D'Aubigne mentioned her name. And then, she knew Maria's sisters name. I did not think it was coincidence. It was just one more mystery to add to my growing list.

As we walked through the door I watched my mother's face transform. The fear melted away, leaving her looking sad and wistful as she stood in the centre of the room. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again she walked slowly towards the large, gilt framed mirror took up half of the wall by the dressing table.

She stood in front of the mirror, gazing into its depths as if she were not just looking at her reflection, but looking inside of the mirror…

I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking of her time on the stage? Of the time when she occupied this very dressing room? Was she thinking about Papa and Stephan and me and regretting all she had given up for us? I could not read the expression in her eyes.

"This was your dressing room, Mother? It is magnificent!" I said and she turned from the mirror at the sound of my voice.

"Yes. It is, is it not?" she said softly. Then she walked over to the dressing table and studied a framed portrait that sat upon it. She stared at it silently for several moments and I watched her face fall and there was a flicker of fear in her eyes as she turned to face me. I had not missed her flicker of recognition when she saw the picture.

"That must be Maria," I said, watching mother. "Is that her sister, Carlotta?"

"It must be," she said quickly. "You will have to tell me all about her after you meet her."

"Yes," I said. "I will write."

"Oh, Bethie, you must. You must write often! We will all miss you so much!" mother said, pulling me into her arms in a tight hug.

xxx

Mother and I had dined in a small café not too far from the Opera House. After supper we talked with Messer's D'Aubigne and Deniaud about the upcoming performance, _Tristan and Isolde._ I had heard of the story, but I had never seen the opera. In fact, both men were quite astounded to find that I had never been to a theatre performance before. There were no theatre's in the small town where we lived, and Paris was too far, or so I had always been told.

"We are thinking that Elizabeth should have the part of Lady Brangane, who is Isolde's attendant," M. Deniaud said.

"Lady Brangane?" Mother repeated. "That is a huge part, one of the leads!"

I glanced between Mother and M. Deniaud.

"Yes, but frankly we do not have another Soprano who can sing half as well as Elizabeth," M. Deniaud said, and M. D'Aubigne nodded his agreement.

"A-a lead?" I asked, eyes wide. "But I have never even performed before!" I protested.

"You will have plenty of time to rehearse and practise," M. D'Aubigne said soothingly. "But, if you wish to not do it, we will put you in the chorus."

I thought about it for a few moments. No, it was not the lead, but from what mother had said, it was a large part, an important one.

"I would like to try it," I said firmly, a minute later.

M. D'Aubigne beamed at me and my mother gave a gentle, supportive smile.

"Should I not audition for the part?" I asked.

"No, no. Once you are under contract we assign the parts as we see fit. We knew, after hearing you sing, that you would be perfect for the part," M. Deniaud said.

I flushed at his praise, as he did not seem the type to give praise unless he truly meant it. I thought briefly of Papa, and wondered what he would think when he knew. Would he be proud? I liked to think he would, but I was not certain.

xxx

That night was my first night away from home, in a strange bed, in a strange place. I had not seen any of the other chorus girls. It seemed that everyone was on holiday while the Opera House was in between productions, and neither of my roommates was there, so M. D'Aubigne had offered a bed to Mother so she did not have to stay at the hotel.

The next morning we went to an early breakfast, then went back to the Opera House to pack up her bags so she could leave for home.

"I will never find my way," I told Mother as I took yet another wrong turn, trying to get back to the dormitory.

Mother laughed softly. "You will learn, and the other girls will show you around."

"But what if they do not? What if they tease me?" I asked.

We had finally reached the dormitory and we went inside. Mother sat on the edge of my bed and patted the mattress next to her so I would sit down.

I sat down next to her and she put an arm around my shoulders. "I cannot say that there will not be any girls who are mean spirited," she said. "There were those types when I sang here. You just have to have faith in yourself, and you will be fine."

I sighed. "Thank you, Mama," I said, slipping back into my childhood name for her.

"Oh, Bethie, I am so proud of you," she said softly.

I helped her pack, and all too soon one of the young men with the ballet corps took her bags out side, where her carriage waited.

We stood outside the Opera House. My mother's eyes were shimmering with tears as she hugged me. "I love you, Beth. You will be wonderful, I know you will."

"Thanks Mama," I whispered as I hugged her tightly.

With one last, almost longing glance at the Opera House, Mother climbed into the carriage. With a jolt, the carriage rumbled away, and I stood and waved until it disappeared from view.

With a sigh, I turned and faced the building that was now my home.

I was terrified.

((well, what do you think? Please review and let me know! Thank you!)


	11. Erik

**A/N:** Well hello again! My Muse seems to want to co-operate lately, so here we have the next chapter.

**Cloud in Crimson:** Thanks for your suggestions! Some of them went along with what I was thinking already, but it's because of you that I did this chapter, in Erik's POV when Christine returns from Paris. Hope you enjoy :)

**Big hugs n thanks to:** Cloud in Crimson, aries-chica56, Blue Eyes at Night, erik'sangel572, Senna Wales, neo-lover72, MenacerPhan Butterfly of Lothlorien for your lovely and inspiring reviews!

**Senna Wales:** I'm glad you thought that last chapter was a strong chapter, I was worried about it!

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Who would have thought that two short days without my Christine could be so painful?

I chuckled humourlessly at the thought as I sat at the organ, staring down at the ivory keys. There had been a time I had thought Christine was gone forever. Now, after spending eighteen years with her as my wife, two short days without her felt like a lifetime.

I missed Bethie, too of course. I was so proud of her, despite my fears of her singing at the Paris Opera house. I knew all too well that I was playing with fire, sending Christine and Bethie there. I was playing with fire allowing my daughter to live there, in the Phantom's domain.

But I could not lock my daughter in her room and expect her not to live, simply because of the things I had done in my past. If the truth came out, so be it. But I was praying that the past would stay where it belonged, and that Bethie would have the chance to be all that I knew she could be.

The Paris Opera House, despite those years being haunted by the Opera Ghost, had managed to keep its reputation as one of the most prestigious Opera Houses in all of France. I had kept track of my Opera House over the years. Charles kept me informed of what was going on there.

After the _Don Juan Triumphant_ debacle, the Opera House closed for almost a year. There were rumours that the police had conducted a raid to find the 'madman' that lived beneath the opera. Rumour also had it that they had been unsuccessful in their attempt. For quite some time people were afraid to be on the streets of Paris for fear they would encounter the 'monster'.

Messer's Andre and Firmin had sold the Opera House, and the new manager had worked hard to build the Opera House's reputation, to scourge any rumours of an Opera Ghost.

As the years passed, my interest in the Opera had dwindled somewhat with the birth of Bethie, and the changes that children brought to Christine's and my life. As long as the Opera remained in business, I was content.

Of course, I had not planned on Bethie going to the Opera House. I had known from the start that she was incredibly talented. Her voice rivalled Christine's for clarity and absolute perfect pitch. I had also known that Bethie would make a wonderful _Prima Donna._ She craved attention, loved being in the spotlight.

But I had never imagined that she would end up at the Paris. I smiled wryly as I thought about the irony of fate. Her teacher had innocently tried to further Beth's career by writing to the management of the Paris Opera. But that single act could possibly destroy my family, turn my children against me.

I sighed and stood. I could not keep my mind on my music, which was quite odd, as music had always been my only escape.

xxx

By the day of Christine's return, I was so nervous I feared her return almost as much as I longed for it. I was at once excited to know what Beth had thought of the Opera House and at the same time I was terrified of what could have happened while they were in Paris.

Christine had never been back, in all the years that we had been married, not even to see her father's grave. I felt guilty, but she had always been firm when she told me that it did not matter, that her life was with me now.

I knew the Opera House was under new management. Perhaps four years back a Monsieur D'Aubigne had taken over the management. I did not know who owned it; the transaction had been done privately, with an anonymous purchaser. Charles had tried to find out, but had been unable to.

I did not know if anyone still remained from when I had been the Opera Ghost. It seemed unlikely. The performers would all be too old; Monsieur Reyer had left after _Don Juan._ Madame Giry had been replaced by a Madame Marchand several years back.

I told myself again and again that I was worrying for nothing. Christine would return, Bethie would perform. Everything would be fine.

But I could not silence the voice in the back of my mind that could not help but wonder if the Comte de Chagney, Raoul, was still a patron of the Opera House.

I cursed my thoughts, but I could not stop myself from wondering what would happen if Christine and Raoul were to meet again.

xxx

"Papa, Papa! She is home!" Stephan called from where he stood, peering out the front window. He rushed outside to greet Christine's carriage, as I felt a rush of relief that she was home safely.

I stood inside the doorway, watching as Christine gave Stephan a hug. She was smiling, but even from a distance I could see something in her eyes.

If I was not mistaken, it looked like Christine was quite anxious.

I felt my stomach clench in fear, wondering what was wrong.

Christine paid the carriage driver, then walked inside, followed by Stephan, who was carrying her bags.

"Erik!" she said when she saw me, standing just inside the front door.

Stephan went past me to take Christine's bags upstairs. I looked at Christine, my face expressionless, waiting.

"Oh, Erik, I missed you so much!" she said. Either she did not see my worry, or she chose not to acknowledge it. Instead she just threw her arms around me, kissing my lips, my face.

I wrapped my arms around her, relishing the feel of her in my arms. She buried her face in my shoulder and I sighed, nuzzling my face into her chestnut curls, streaked with just a touch of grey.

Just then Stephan returned, eager to hear about Beth and Christine's trip.

Christine told Stephan of the Opera House, the Manager, M. D'Aubigne and M. Deniaud. She told him of showing Beth her old dressing room. I gave Christine a pointed look, which she ignored.

Then she told us that Beth had been given one of the larger parts in the Opera House's new production of _Tristan and Isolde_. Stephan was thrilled and I felt the warm glow of pride as I thought of my daughter securing such an important part on her first performance. After satisfying Stephan's curiosity she sent him off to bed. He kissed her cheek before going upstairs.

I sensed that Christine had told only part of the story, and said as much to her.

"I have some…things to tell you. Perhaps we should go downstairs."

My heart skipped. I was right, something had happened. But what?

We went downstairs to the music room and sat on the small couch.

"Erik..." she said softly. There was a far away look in her eyes as she gazed into space. "It was so…odd. Being there again, after all of these years. It was as if I had never left, Erik. I kept expecting to hear your voice."

I looked at her, watching as she smiled wistfully. "I showed her my dressing room. I looked in the mirror and I could not help but remember the first time I saw you, looking at me from the depths of the mirror."

I shifted uneasily. I was not proud of my actions when I first knew Christine. Deceiving her into thinking she was being visited by her fathers' Angel of Music. Lying to her, seducing and controlling her with my voice. While she looked nostalgic, I was getting irritated.

"It has not changed at all. It is just as magnificent as ever. Beth was enchanted at first sight. We ate at one of the small café's near the Opera House and I met the chorus master, M. Deniaud. He is quite handsome and charming."

I waited patiently for Christine to get around to whatever was bothering her. I did not think that her wistful reminisces or the new chorus master was causing the undercurrent of fear in her eyes.

She sighed heavily and after a brief pause, she looked up. "Erik," she said quietly. "Although I did not meet her, M. D'Aubigne told me of the lead soprano."

There was another pause, while I tried to figure out where Christine was going with this.

"Her name…her name is Maria Guidicelli. She is La Carlotta's younger sister," she said finally.

There was a dull roaring in my ears as I stared at Christine, dumbfounded. "No," I said softly.

Christine nodded, looking unhappy. "There was a picture in the dressing room, of Maria and Carlotta. Carlotta lives in Italy now, but her sister is the lead soprano. She is much younger than Carlotta, she looks to be perhaps twenty-five."

I shook my head. Not only did my past refuse to remain buried, it seemed intent on hunting me down and dragging me down with it.

"I-I did not know what to do, Erik," Christine said, her eyes filling with tears. "I did not know whether to bring her home…"

"No," I said shortly. "I will not do that to her."

"But if she finds out…"

"If she finds out, then the fates will have made it so and there would not be anything I could do about it."

A tear trickled down Christine's cheek as she looked at me helplessly. "Erik, perhaps we should have told her. Perhaps we should have just been honest with her."

"NO!" I roared, jumping to my feet. I clenched my hands into fists as I stared down at Christine. "What exactly do you think I should tell her? What would_ you_ tell her? Beth, your father lived beneath the Opera House terrorizing the performers, extorting money from the management. They called him the Opera Ghost. He was the cause of several deaths, he seduced me, lied to me, and threatened me. And that does not even go into my life _before_ the Opera House. Do you actually expect to tell a child that and expect that she will understand? Damn it, Christine, even I do not understand, how could I possibly expect her to?"

Christine was crying, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as I ranted and raved, shouting out my frustration. "But would it not be better for her to hear it from us than to hear it from someone at the Opera House?" she asked softly.

Christine's words made sense, of course, but the stubborn and terrified part of me could not admit it.

I sighed and felt my shoulders droop. "If she hears it from you or me she will have no choice but to believe it," I said, my voice shaking.

"Oh, Erik," Christine whispered, standing and wrapping her arms around me.

I felt an overwhelming rush of love for my wife, and helplessness at the situation as I cried silently into her soft curls.

It seemed no matter what I did, I was damned. The truth could destroy everything that I had worked the last eighteen years building.

And yet, I knew all too well the consequences of lies…

((dum dum dum! Hehe. Well, what did you think? Please review and let me know! Thank you!))


	12. Beth

**A/N:** So sorry for the delay in updates. I've been infected with Writers Block Bug once again. Ugh.

**Big thanks to:** tactics, arieschica56, Blue Eyes at Night, Aki T, Senna Wales, the copper araibian, Menacer Phan, Mystery Guest, Cloud In Crimson, Ritoru Kani, babymene17, annecordelia geckogirl for your lovely reviews. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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For two full days I had the dormitory room to myself. Rehearsals for _Tristan and Isolde_ would not start until after everyone returned from holiday, but M. Deniaud gave me a copy of the script so I could begin practising my part. I met a few of the dancers and some of the stagehands. Everyone seemed friendly enough.

There was a meeting/rehearsal scheduled for Friday, after everyone was due back. Thursday night I was sitting on my bed reading Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ when the dormitory door flew open and several giggling girls came in, chattering excitedly.

I sat up, heart pounding.

"Oh, look, the new girl is here!" one of them exclaimed, and they all stopped to stare at me.

I stood up, giving them a shaky smile. "H-hello," I said. "I am Elizabeth de Nuit."

"Oh, hello Elizabeth! I am Astrid Levesque, your new room-mate!" said a tiny girl who looked about my age. She had black hair and grey eyes and as she walked over to me, I could tell by her stance and the way she walked that she was a ballet dancer.

"It is nice to meet you," I said awkwardly.

Astrid smiled broadly. "It is nice to meet you! Therese, come meet Elizabeth!"

A tall girl with long, curly blonde hair walked up. She looked down her nose at me and raised an eyebrow. "So," she said icily, "You are the new ingénue."

I forced myself not to cringe under the haughty look she was giving me.

Therese was quite pretty, or would have been if not for the sneer on her face and the iciness in her pale blue eyes. I remembered M. D'Aubigne telling us that Therese was the daughter of the ballet mistress. I certainly hoped she was nicer than her daughter.

"I asked you a question," Therese said sharply. "You are the new ingénue, are you not? You are the 'protégé' that M. Deniaud and M. D'Aubigne told us about."

I flushed, embarrassed to think that Messer's Deniaud and D'Aubigne had spoken so highly of me to the other girls.

"I-I do not know," I said.

"You do not know?" Therese repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You are smart, too, no? M. D'Aubigne told us all about you. You are a country girl with magnificent talent. He told us how you had never even been formally trained, your only training came from your parents." Her words were innocent enough but there was a bitter undercurrent to her words.

I gritted my teeth. I did not want to start a fight, so I merely smiled. "That is correct."

Astrid, looking uncomfortable, pushed her way in front of the taller girl. She gave an awkward laugh. "Welcome to the Paris Opera House, Elizabeth. You will love it here!"

I smiled weakly at Astrid and watched Therese flounce away, the four other girls following closely behind.

If this was any indication, it seemed that things would not be very different here than they had been at school.

Astrid stayed to talk to me after Therese and the other girls had gone. She told me the names of the other girls, who were all in the chorus with her and Therese. There was Ethel Shultz, Nicolette Severin and Natasha Ivanov. Therese had lived at the Opera House since she was a small child and though she had only started performing the previous year, she had practiced with the professional dancers for years. She had become the leader of the group of girls, though she was a few years younger than most of them.

"Do not let her worry you, Elizabeth," Astrid said. "She is not a bad person."

I nodded, though somewhat dubiously. She had not seemed very nice, but I would give her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, Astrid seemed quite nice, so perhaps it would not be as bad as I had first feared.

xxx

The next day I walked the along the empty corridor, alone, on my way to the meeting/rehearsal where our parts were to be assigned. So far Astrid was the only one who would talk to me. The other girls seemed too afraid of Therese to chance talking to me. I sighed heavily as I walked on stage.

It seemed everyone was there. I saw a few of the dancers I had met, all of the girls were there. I caught a glimpse of M. Deniaud talking to a slender woman with blonde hair, streaked with grey. She wore a plain, dark coloured dress and her blonde hair was pulled back in a dancer's knot. I assumed that was Madame Marchand, Therese's mother.

I stood at the edge of the group, studying the many different faces. M. Deniaud walked past a moment later and stopped to say good day.

"Good day," I replied, smiling.

"I was just talking to Madame Marchand about you. She is most interested in meeting you after the meeting," M. Deniaud said, nodding toward the woman he had just been talking to, who was now standing with Therese and Astrid.

Just then M. D'Aubigne walked in with a petite, dark haired young woman dressed in an exquisite blue satin dress. She was smiling up at a tall, well dressed man. M. Deniaud excused himself to greet them.

That was Maria Guidicelli, I recognized her from the daguerreotype in the dressing room. She was far more beautiful in person, however. Her dark hair was thick, styled in an elegant upsweep and her dark eyes sparkled merrily.

M. D'Aubigne went to stand at a small podium and the crowd quieted as he cleared his throat.

"Welcome back!" he said cheerfully. "I am looking forward to our new season, and our first production, _Tristan and Isolde_."

He went on to assign parts. Of course, the lead, Isolde, was given to Maria Guidicelli. Everyone clapped politely and she smiled, her cheeks flushed. The male lead went to Colin Farnsworth, a tall blonde haired man who simply nodded seriously.

He read several other roles before he paused. "And the part of Lady Brangane will go to Mademoiselle Elizabeth de Nuit, who has just joined our company this season."

Immediately a murmur swept through the crowd as everyone looked about, trying to figure out who I was.

"Elizabeth, please, come forward."

I tried not to look nervous as I walked to the podium. I turned around and faced the crowd, who were looking at me with open curiosity. I caught a glimpse of Therese Marchand, standing next to her mother. Therese looked furious, her face red as she scowled at either me or M. D'Aubigne, or both of us.

Madame Marchand, however, was staring at me, wide-eyed. She had an expression of utter disbelief in her eyes. No doubt she had expected her daughter to get the part. I had not even sung a note and I already had several people angry with me, I thought miserably.

I had a sudden urge to run from the stage. I was humiliated and suddenly terrified of the faces staring at me. I had not wanted to cause problems, but here I was, making enemies before I had even had a chance to prove myself.

My heart was thumping painfully in my chest and I felt tears stinging behind my eyes. The urge to run was strong, but I forced myself to take a deep breath. Papa would not want to see me run offstage as if I were ashamed. I had nothing to be ashamed of.

I lifted my chin, forcing myself to convey a confidence that I did not feel. M. D'Aubigne went on to tell everyone that I came from a talented musical family; that my mother had once performed on this very stage at the Paris Opera. He then excused me, and I walked slowly back to the edge of the crowd, smiling at the few people that greeted me, and trying not to look at Therese, who was no doubt fuming.

I remember little of the remainder of the meeting. M. D'Aubigne assigned the remaining parts, talked about this being the best season ever, and then he dismissed the crowd for rehearsals.

M. Deniaud walked over to me. "Elizabeth, I would like to introduce you to Madame Marchand."

I obediently followed him to where Therese stood with her mother. Therese was talking in low tones when we approached and I overheard part of what she was saying.

"How could they give her that part? She has never even sung! I cannot believe it, _Mere_. I was certain I would get the part."

M. Deniaud cleared his throat and Therese and her mother both whirled around, Therese glaring daggers at me, her mother looking nervous and upset.

M. Deniaud introduced me to Madame Marchand, who gave me a tentative nod. "It is good to meet you at last, Elizabeth. I have heard much of you from Messer's Deniaud and D'Aubigne."

"It is good to meet you, as well," I said, feeling quite awkward.

Therese gave me one last withering look, then turned and flounced away, no doubt to find the rest of her little friends.

"I am sorry, please excuse Therese. She can be…difficult," Madame Marchand said with a sigh as her daughter walked off.

There was an awkward silence, then Madame Marchand smiled at me. "Monsieur D'Aubigne said your mother once sang at the Opera House. I was in the corps de ballet for many years, perhaps I knew her. What is her name?"

The question was asked innocently enough, but there was a calculating look in Madame Marchand's pale blue eyes, as if she knew something.

"Her name is Christine," I replied. "Christine de Nuit."

Madame Marchand's eyes widened slightly. "That is her married name, no?"

I nodded.

"What was her name, before she married?"

"Daae," I replied, watching Madame Marchand's expression carefully. "Christine Daae."

Though she tried to cover it, I saw the surprise in her eyes as her face paled slightly. She smiled, as if nothing were wrong, and began speaking to M Deniaud about rehearsals.

The change in subject did not escape my notice. In fact, it only served to reinforce my suspicions that there was something being hidden from me.

It made me all the more determined to figure out what it was.

((well, what did you think? Please review and let me know! All reviews/comments/suggestions welcomed!))


	13. Meg Marchand

**A/N:** Yes, it is. It really is an update! I know it's short, but inspiration has been sadly lacking lately and I wanted to get at least something out so everyone doesn't give up on me!

**Big thanks To: **my many many reviewers. I love you guys! Blue Eyes at Night, Cloud in Crimson, aries-chica56, Lover of Balto, Senna Wales, erik'sangel527, Padfootz-luvr, Blue Beauty, annecordelia, GoldenLyre, babymene17, the copper araibian, gecko girl, Letthedreamdescend, Mini Nicka, Night Demoness, No One Mourns the Wicked, Lucia Sasaki.

On to Chapter 13. I hope you enjoy:)

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The moment I laid eyes on Elizabeth de Nuit, I had known who she was. It was like seeing a ghost. The girl looked just like her mother. The same curly dark hair and perfect, delicate features. The only difference, which I noticed the instant our eyes met, was that rather than Christine's emerald green eyes, Elizabeth had deep blue eyes. A deep blue I had only seen before, in the shadows of the Paris Opera House.

How could I forget? It happened in the weeks after Christine had left with Raoul, after the night of the disastrous performance of _Il Muto_ and the death of Josef Buquet. During the repair of the theatre rehearsals were halted, so I was left with much free time.

When I was a young girl, perhaps six years old, my father had left my mother. The former manager of the Opera House had allowed us to live at there, at the Opera House, as we had nowhere else to go. My mother had her own chambers, while I lived in the dormitories.

I had never had many friends, I had always been somewhat of an outsider, until the day Christine Daae arrived at the Opera. I had watched her performance when she tried out for the chorus, hiding backstage. She had a lucklaster performance, her voice was quite beautiful, but it was weak, lacking any emotion. I had been sure she would not be hired, but to my surprise, as well as everyone else's, they had not only hired the meek looking girl, but they had also given her the largest dressing room. When I had spoken to my mother of my surprise, she alone had not seemed surprised. She had merely said, "It is what the manager wishes."

Christine and I had become fast friends. I was an outsider as well, being the youngest girl in the chorus, as well as being the daughter of the ballet mistress. I had been the first to befriend her when the other chorus girls had teased her.

Over time I had seen a change in Christine. Her singing became polished, professional, even as she became more withdrawn. She was jumpy, nervous, but her voice! It was magnificent. Her voice had taken on an ethereal quality, and it had not been long before she was given the lead. She had performed to rave reviews and the Opera's patrons had been quite impressed with Christine Daae, until the scandal when she disappeared the night of her performance.

I often wondered how things might have been different had I told anyone of Christine's crazy talk of the Angel of Music. But foolishly I had merely thought she was eccentric, and said nothing, even after her disappearance.

Things spiralled out of control after that. There were deaths, rumours, the Angel of Music and the Opera Ghost. I often thought that my mother knew more than she let on, but when I asked her she simply told me it was none of my concern.

I sighed and looked up. I was sitting in my room at the dressing table. I glanced at the mirror and looked at my reflection. Seeing Elizabeth de Nuit had brought back so many memories. I half expected to see the round-faced innocent child that I had been back then reflected in the mirrors smooth surface.

But it was not, of course. Years and life had given me streaks of grey in my curly blonde hair and aged my face. I had married young and given birth to Therese within a year of my marriage. Once she was old enough she had wanted to be a performer and she had taken ballet and voice, though, like me, she lacked the voice to become a Prima Donna, but she was graceful and a marvellous dancer.

Once my mother had become too old to be ballet mistress, I had taken over her position. There were no more incidents with the "Opera Ghost" and everything that had happened became just another legend.Christine had never been seen again, though I had always wondered what had become of her.

But now, having seen her daughter, pieces of the puzzle seemed to be falling into place. It was her eyes. Those haunting blue eyes, a colour that I had seen only one other time, in the shadows of the stage during the theatre's repairs after the chandelier had 'fallen'.

I was backstage wandering around and wondering how Christine was doing. She had left the country with the Vicomte, la Carlotta and Signor Piangi had gone back to Italy and the fate of the Opera House was uncertain, all because of the Opera Ghost.

I was standing on the stage, staring out at the workmen, who were busy repairing the damage from the fire that had started when the gas lit chandelier had fallen onto the seats. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the slightest of movements. I glanced over and saw movement, deep in the shadows. I almost thought I had imagined it, when one of the shadows moved and I saw a glimpse of white, the outline of what looked like a mask. Then the light caught his eyes and I froze, staring into a pair of deep, hypnotizing blue eyes. I had gasped and stepped back, but the eyes still watched me until I turned and ran from the stage, down to the dormitories where I stayed.

The image of those haunting blue eyes had stayed with me, until the fateful night of_ Don Juan Triumphant_ when Christine had unmasked the Opera Ghost in front of everyone. Then I had seen those eyes again, burning with rage as he took Christine and disappeared, just before Signor Piangi's body had been found.

Hours later when I had arrived in the Phantom's lair with everyone else, Christine was gone, as was the Phantom. Christine had left with the Vicomte, the Phantom was never seen, nor heard from again.

I had heard through my mother that Christine had left the Vicomte and disappeared. There was a rumour that a carriage had brought a dishevelled woman in a wedding dress to the Opera House days later, but nothing else was ever heard. When the Opera House managers, along with the Police, went back below to the Phantom's lair later, there was no trace of either him, nor Christine.

And so the story of the Phantom of the Opera remained a mystery. There were not many people left that would even know Christine's name, and her part in the story had become that of a nameless young singer, seduced by the Phantom.

I had always thought of Christine, wondered what had become of her. But I had not thought of her in years until M Deniaud had introduced me to Elizabeth de Nuit, who was so obviously Christine's daughter. And judging by the girl's blue eyes, it seemed that her father…

I shook my head. It was not up to me to fill in the blanks of this story. Somehow I would have to find out the whole story. But I could not help but wonder what, if anything, Elizabeth knew of her mother's past…

(( Thanks for reading and please, please review! Thanks!))


	14. 14: Beth

Could it be? Is it actually an UPDATE?

Sorry about how long this took, but I've suffered from a terrible bout of writer's block. So sorry if this chappy is short, I just wanted to get writing again.

Thanks for all of the kind reviews so far, I hope everyone hasn't given up on me.

Please review, thank you very much!

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Things did not get any better in the following days. Rehearsals began, and though I loved singing, loved how bustling and busy the Opera was as the workmen prepared the sets, the tension and hostility from the other girl's was overwhelming.

I tried not to let Therese's comments bother me, but every time I made a mistake she was the first to criticise me. She had a wicked tongue and her biting comments reduced me to tears more than once. Even though I had found a friend in Astrid, the rest of the girls all followed Therese's lead and snubbed me.

"You should not let it bother you, Beth," Astrid said one night as we walked through the cold and empty Opera House, talking. "She is just jealous of your talent."

I sighed heavily. Jealous or not, the girl was determined to make me miserable. "I just do not understand why she must be so spiteful," I said. "I have tried to be nice to her."

Astrid shrugged slightly. "She thought she would be the first of the chorus girls to get a lead part. She is jealous not only that she did not get it, but she is angry that the part went to a newcomer."

"But I have no control over what the manager wants to do," I protested.

"I know that. And Therese knows it too. She is just bitter and angry. She has always been like that," Astrid said.

"But Madame Meg is not like that," I said.

"No. Therese is just…different. She has lived in the Opera House almost her whole life, after her father died when she was just a baby."

I thought about that. I thought about Therese growing up in the Opera House, not in a home, as I had. I thought about how hard it must have been when she was young, with no children her age. It was no wonder she was bitter, but it also did not mean she had to take her anger out on me.

We walked along in silence for a while longer. We were behind the stage when I saw a stairway. "Where does that go?" I asked curiously.

Astrid shrugged. "I do not know."

"Shall we see?" I asked, as I put my foot on the first stair.

Astrid looked at me, wide-eyed. "Yes, lets!" she said, eyes gleaming with excitement.

We walked slowly up the twisting staircase, which led, at the top, to a heavy door, which locked from the inside. I twisted the lock and pushed the heavy door open.

It led to the roof.

I stepped onto the roof, looking around in awe. Astrid followed, and she gasped as she saw the view.

The roof of the Opera House looked over the city of Paris. It was late, and pitch dark, but the buildings below glowed with lights. The night was slightly overcast, but there were stars twinkling in the breaks in the clouds.

Then I saw the statue. I recognised it immediately. It was _Le Victoire Ailee_. I had seen pictures of the statue in the books that I had read about the Opera House.

I stood beneath the statue and smiled. "It is magnificent up here!" I said. It was a warm night, filled with the sounds of the city below us.

Astrid grinned. "I have never been up here!" she said. "It is amazing!"

I knew immediately that this would be a wonderful place to go when I needed space, needed to get away from Therese's nasty comments.

Astrid and I stayed up there for a long time, exploring the rooftop. Astrid pointed out several large buildings to me. She could not believe that I was sixteen and had never been to Paris. I laughingly asked her how often she had been to the country. She grinned. "I have not," she replied.

When we finally decided to go back in, it was quite late and most of the lights had been turned off, which I had not thought about.

We made our way carefully down the winding staircase. It was almost completely dark and eerily quiet. We made it to the bottom safely, and Astrid immediately turned to return to our room.

"Go ahead," I said. "I am just going to walk around for a bit longer."

"Are you sure? I could come with you," Astrid offered.

"No, no. Go on, I will be there shortly. I just do not want to have to see Therese just yet," I admitted.

"Are you not afraid to walk alone in the dark?" Astrid asked, eyes wide.

"Of course not," I said. "It is not as if I believe in ghosts."

Astrid smiled. "Go, then. I will see you later."

I returned her smile, then turned and walked the opposite way of the dormitories. I walked onto the stage and stood at the front of centre stage, near the footlights, and looked out at the rows and rows of empty seats, trying to imagine what it would be like to perform in front of all of those seats filled with people. I shuddered slightly at the thought. Where all the other girls in the chorus had performed in front of an audience this size, I never had, and the mere thought was enough to tie my stomach into knots. And I had a major part, no less!

I shook my head, trying to clear my negative thoughts, then glanced once more around the theatre. The box seats, draped in red velvet, the high domed ceiling, painted with blue skies and clouds. And the magnificent gaslit chandelier, dark now. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like with the theatre full of people dressed in their finest, the women in their furs, the men in silk top hats. The chandelier would be lit, the crystals sparkling. The footlights would be lit and the light would gleam off of the gold accents and statues.

I felt a flutter in my stomach and was slightly disappointed when I opened my eyes to the darkened theatre, which seemed almost sinister after my daydreams of a bustling audience, and brightly lit chandelier.

I shivered slightly and hurried off stage. I was not ready to return to the dormitories yet, so I wandered along the hallway where the private dressing rooms were. As I passed by Dressing Room number two, my mother's old dressing room, I was suddenly startled as the door swung open before me.

With a gasp I jumped back, and then gave a sigh of relief as Maria Guidicelli poked her head out of the door.

"Oh, Beth, I heard someone in the hall and thought it was Clarisse, my assistant. I sent her to the kitchen for some tea," Maria said in her heavy Italian accent.

I smiled back. "I was just going for a walk," I said. "I did not realise you were still here and you startled me. Why are you here so late?"

Maria sighed. "I am living here for now," she said. "I have only just come to France and have not found a place to live yet."

I nodded.

"Would you like to come in?" Maria asked. "Clarisse should be back soon with the tea. Would you like to join me?"

I smiled and tried to hide my excitement at being befriended by the_ prima donna_. "Oh, yes, thank you!"

I followed Maria into the dressing room, where she motioned me to sit in a large, plush velvet chair. I sat and Maria sat on a chaise across from me.

"Tell me about yourself," Maria said. "You are quite talented for someone so young."

"Thank you," I said, blushing at her praise. "I have always loved to sing," I said. "My mother and father trained me. My mother used to sing here years ago and my father was her tutor."

We were interrupted then by Maria's assistant bringing the pot of tea. She served the tea, then excused herself to the servants quarters.

"So you come form a long line of talent I hear," Maria said.

"My mother used to be a _prima donna," _I said proudly.

"And with your talent you are sure to follow in her footsteps," Maria said with a smile.

"Your sister sang here, too, did she not?" I asked. "Did you see her perform?"

"No, no," Maria replied. "She sang here many years ago. Carlotta is much older than I. We are…how do you say…half-sisters. We have the same father, but Carlotta's mother died years ago, and our father married my mother years later. She had already moved to Paris when I was born, and she had moved back to Italy when I was attending music school."

"Does she still perform?" I asked.

Maria shook her head. "No, she does not."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

Maria sighed and took a sip of tea. "I cannot say, exactly. There was some sort of trouble when she was here, at the Paris Opera, but my father would never tell me. Her fiancée died, he was a singer, also. She was never the same after that." Maria shrugged. "I suppose she was too delicate to handle her fiancee's death."

I felt my brow furrow as I thought about what she had said. Some kind of trouble? What did that mean? Maria's sister and my mother had been here at the same time. I wondered if my mother knew what had happened. I told myself to remember to ask her in my next letter.

We talked for a few minutes longer as we sipped our tea. Maria got a tin of hard cookies, which she called biscotti, and handed me one to eat with my tea.

"I should let you get back to the dormitories," Maria said finally. "It is getting quite late, and we have rehearsals early tomorrow."

I sighed. I had enjoyed my time with Maria and did not look forward to going back to my room, where I might run into Therese. But I knew I could not stay here forever, so I thanked Maria for the tea and stood up.

Maria walked me to the door, and gave me a quick hug. "It was wonderful talking to you, Beth," Maria said with a warm smile. "It is not always easy to make friends in this business."

"Yes, I enjoyed talking to you as well," I replied. "Hopefully we can do this again," I said, thinking about how much I had enjoyed talking to Maria.

"Of course. Goodnight, Beth," Maria said.

"Good night," I said, and slipped out the door.

As I walked back to the dormitories, my thoughts whirled. I enjoyed my friendship with Astrid, but Maria was older and so sophisticated. And she was the_ prima donna!_ I was flattered that she

considered me a friend. It made it easier to ignore Therese's scowl when I entered the dormitory. Astrid asked where I had been and I told her. Therese's scowl deepened when she heard that, but I did not care.

I was making friends, I had a lead part. I was happy.

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